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DESPERATE    REMEDIES 


/  4  ft  ft 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


A    NOVEL 


THOMAS    HARDY 

AUTHOR  OF   "TESS  OF  THE   D'URBERVILLES,' 

"life's  little  ironies,"  etc. 


WITH   AN   etching   BY 

H.    MACBETH-RAEBURN 

AND  A  MAP  OF  WESSEX 


"  Though  an  unconnected  course  of  adventure  Is  what  most 
frequently  occurs  in  nature,  yet  the  province  of  the  romance- 
writer  being  artificial,  there  is  more  required  from  him  than  a 
mere  compliance  with  thdeimplicity  of  reality." 

*  Sir  W.  Scott. 

NEW  YORK 
HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  PUBLISHERS 

FRANKLIN  SQUARE 


Books  by 
THOMAS   HARDY 


UNDER  THE   GREENWOOD   TREE.     Crown  8vo. 

DESPERATE    REMEDIES.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

A   LAODICEAN.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

FAR  FROM  THE  MADDING  CROWD.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

THE   MAYOR  OF  CASTERBRIDGE.     Crown  8vo.     Map 

TESS  OF  THE  D'URBERVILLES.     Crown  8vo. 

TWO   ON   A   TOWER.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

A  PAIR  OF  BLUE  EYES.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

THE   WOODLANDERS.     Crown  8vo. 

THE    HAND    OF    ETHELBERTA.     Crown    8vo.     Map. 

THE  TRUMPET  MAJOR.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

THE    RETURN   OF   THE    NATIVE.     Crown   8vo.     Map. 

WESSEX  TALES.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

JUDE  THE  OBSCURE.     Crown  8vo. 

THE  WELL-BELOVED.     Crown  8vo.     Map. 

LIFE'S  LITTLE  IRONIES.     Crown  8vo. 

A  GROUP  OF  NOBLE  DAMES.     Illustrated.     12mo. 

WESSEX   POEMS.     First  Series.     Crown  8vo. 

WESSEX  POEMS.     Second  Series.     Crown  Svo. 


HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NEW  YORK 


I 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 
M-n 


PRE  FA  TOR  Y  NO  TE 

1  HE  following  story,  the  first  published  by  the  author,  was 

written  nineteen  years  ago,  at  a  time  when  he  was  feeling 

his   way  to  a   method.      The   principles   observed   in   its 

composition  are,  no  doubt,  too  exclusively  those  in  which 

mystery,  entanglement,  surprise,  and   moral  obliquity  are 

depended  on  for  exciting  interest ;  but  some  of  the  scenes, 

and  at  least  one  of  the  characters,  have  been  deemed  not 

*  unworthy  of  a  little  longer  preservation  ;  and  as  they  could 

'  hardly  be  reproduced  in  a  fragmentary  form  the  novel  is 

:  reissued  complete — the  more  readily  that   it  has  for  some 

\  considerable  time  been  reprinted  and  widely  circulated  in 

..  America. 


/anudry  1889. 


t^ 


To  the  foregoing  note  I  have  only  to  add  that,  in  the 
present  edition  of  'Desperate  Remedies,'  some  Wessex 
towns  and  other  places  that  are  common  to  the  scenes  of 
several  of  these  stories  have  been  called  for  the  first  time 
by  the  names  under  which  they  appear  elsewhere,  for  the 


PREFATORY  NOTE 

satisfaction  of  any  reader  who  may  care  for  consistency  in 
such  matters. 

This  is  the  only  material  change ;  for,  as  it  happened 
that  certain  characteristics  which  provoked  most  discussion 
in  my  latest  story  were  present  in  this  my  first — published 
in  1871,  when  there  was  no  French  name  for  them — it 
has  seemed  best  to  let  them  stand  unaltered. 

T.  H. 

February  1896, 


I 


CONTENTS 


I 

PAGE 

The  Events  of  Thirty  Years   .  .  .  ,         i 


II 

The  Events  of  a  Fortnight      .  ,  ,  ,        19 

III 

The  Events  of  Eight  Days       ,  .  ,  .36 


IV 

The  Events  of  One  Day 

^ 

The  Events  of  One  Day 

V 

59 


t  ■ 


66 


VI 

The  Events  of  Twelve  Hours  9  •  .90 


VII 

The  Events  of  Eighteen  Days  ,  ,  •      "5 

vii 


CONTENTS 


VIII  . 

PACE 

The  Events  of  Eighteen  Days  ,  .  .134 


IX 

The  Events  of  Ten  Weeks        .  .  ,  .167 

X 

The  Events  of  a  Day  and  Night        .  .  .      195 

XI 

The  Events  of  Five  Days  ....      222 

XII 

The  Events  of  Ten  Months      ....      250 

XIII 

The  Events  of  One  Day  ....      278 

XIV 
The  Events  of  Five  Weeks       ....      326 

XV       4 

The  Events  of  Three  Weeks    ....      338 

XVI 

The  Events  of  One  Week         .  .  •  '353 

XVII 

The  Events  of  One  Day  .  .  .  •     37* 

▼iii 


CONTENTS 

XVIII 

The  Events  of  Three  Days 

XIX 

The  Events  of  a  Day  and  Night 

XX 

The  Events  of  Three  Hours    .... 

XXI 

The  Events  of  Eighteen  Hours  •  . 


Sequel  ■  .  ,  , 


PACE 


405 


440 


449 


466 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


THE  EVENTS  OF 

THIRTY  YEARS 

I.  December  and  January,  1835-36 

In  the  long  and  intricately  inwrought  chain  of  circum- 
stance which  renders  worthy  of  record  some  experiences 
of  Cytherea  Graye,  Edward  Springrove,  and  others,  the 
first  event  directly  influencing  the  issue  was  a  Christmas 
visit. 

In  the  above-mentioned  year,  1835,  Ambrose  Graye, 
a  young  architect  who  had  just  begun  the  practice  of 
his  profession  in  the  midland  town  of  Hocbridge,  to  the 
north  of  Christminster,  went  to  London  to  spend  the 
Christmas  holidays  with  a  friend  who  lived  in  Blooms- 
bury.  They  had  gone  up  to  Cambridge  in  the  same 
year,  and,  after  graduating  together,  Huntway,  the  friend, 
had  taken  orders. 

Graye  was  handsome,  frank,  and  gentle.  He  had 
a  quality  of  thought  which,  exercised  on  homeliness,  was 
humour ;  on  nature,  picturesqueness  ;  on  abstractions, 
poetry.     Being,  as  a  rule,  broadcast,  it  was  all  three. 

Of  the  wickedness  of  the  world  he  was  too  forgetful. 
To  discover  evil  in  a  new  friend  is  to  most  people  only 
an  additional  experience  :  to  him  it  was  ever  a  surprise. 

I  A 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

While  in  London  he  became  acquainted  with  a  re- 
tired officer  in  the  Navy  named  Bradleigh,'  who,  with  his 
wife  and  their  daughter,  Uved  in  a  street  not  far  from 
Russell  Square.  Though  they  were  in  no  more  than 
comfortable  circumstances,  the  captain's  wife  came  of 
an  ancient  family  whose  genealogical  tree  was  interlaced 
with  some  of  the  most  illustrious  and  well-known  in  the 
kingdom. 

The  young  lady,  their-  daughter,  seemed  to  Graye  by 
far  the  most  beautiful  and  queenly  being  he  had  ever 
beheld.  She  was  about  nineteen  or  twenty,  and  her 
name  was  Cytherea.  In  truth  she  was  not  so  very 
unlike  country  girls  of  that  type  of  beauty,  except  in 
one  respect.  She  was  perfect  in  her  manner  and  bear- 
ing, and  they  were  not.  A  mere  distinguishing  peculi- 
arity, by  catching  the  eye,  is  often  read  as  the  pervading 
characteristic,  and  she  appeared  to  him  no  less  than 
perfection  throughout — transcending  her  rural  rivals  in 
very  nature.  Graye  did  a  thing  the  blissfulness  of  which 
was  only  eclipsed  by  its  hazardousness.  He  loved  her 
at  first  sight. 

His  introductions  had  led  him  into  contact  with 
Cytherea  and  her  parents  two  or  three  times  on  the 
first  week  of  his  arrival  in  London,  and  accident  and 
a  lover's  contrivance  brought  them  together  as  fre- 
quently the  week  following.  The  parents  liked  young 
Graye,  and  having  few  friends  (for  their  equals  in 
blood  were  their  superiors  in  position),  he  was  received 
on  very  generous  terms.  His  passion  for  Cytherea 
grew  not  only  strong,  but  ineffably  exalted :  she, 
without  positively  encouraging  him,  tacitly  assented 
to  his  schemes  for  being  near  her.  Her  father  and 
mother  seemed  to  have  lost  all  confidence  in  nobility 
of  birth,  without  money  to  give  effect  to  its  presence, 
and  looked  upon  the  budding  consequence  of  the 
young  people's  reciprocal  glances  with  placidity,  if  not 
actual  favour. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Graye's  whole  impassioned  dream  terminated  in  a 
bad  and  unaccountable  episode.  After  passing  through 
Ithree  weeks  of  sweet  experience,  he  had  arrived  at 
Ithe  last  stage — a  kind  of  moral  Gaza — before  plunging 
into  an  emotional  desert.  The  second  week  in  January 
had  come  round,  and  it  was  necessary  for  the  young 
architect  to  leave  town. 

Throughout  his  acquaintanceship  with  the  lady  of 
I  his  heart  there  had  been  this  marked  peculiarity  in 
her  love :  she  had  delighted  in  his  presence  as  a  sweet- 
heart should  do,  yet  from  first  to  last  she  had  repressed 
all  recognition  of  the  true  nature  of  the  thread  which 
drew  them  together,  blinding  herself  to  its  meaning 
and  only  natural  tendency,  and  appearing  to  dread  his 
announcement  of  them.  The  present  seemed  enough 
for  her  without  cumulative  hope  :  usually,  even  if  love 
is  in  itself  an  end,  it  must  be  regarded  as  a  beginning 
to  be  enjoyed. 

In  spite  of  evasions  as  an  obstacle,  and  in  conse- 
quence of  them  as  a  spur,  he  would  put  the  matter  off 
no  longer.     It  was  evening.     He  took  her  into  a  Uttle 
conservatory  on  the  landing,  and  there  among  the  ever- 
greens, by  the  light  of  a  few  tiny  lamps,  infinitely  en- 
hancing the  freshness  and  beauty  of  the  leaves,  he  made 
the  declaration  of  a  love  as  fresh  and  beautiful  as  they. 
'  My  love — my  darling,  be  my  wife  ! ' 
She  seemed  like  one  just  awakened.     '  Ah — we  must 
part  now  ! '  she  faltered,  in  a  voice  of  anguish.     '  I  will 
write  to  you.'     She  loosened  her  hand  and  rushed  away. 
In  a  wild  fever  Graye  went  home  and  watched  for 
the  next  morning.     Who  shall  express  his  misery  and 
wonder  when  a  note  containing  these  words  was  put 
into  his  hand  ? 

'  Good-bye ;  good-bye  for  ever.  As  recognized  Ipvers 
something  divides  us  eternally.  Forgive  me — I  should 
have  told  you  before ;  but  your  love  was  sweet !  Never 
mention  me.' 

3 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

That  very  day,  and  as  it  seemed,  to  put  an  end  to  a 
painful  condition  of  things,  daughter  aqd  parents  left 
London  to  pay  off  a  promised  visit  to  a  relative  in  a 
western  county.  No  message  or  letter  of  entreaty 
could  wring  from  her  any  explanation.  She  begged 
him  not  to  follow  her,  and  the  most  bewildering  point 
was  that  her  father  and  mother  appeared,  from  the  tone 
of  a  letter  Graye  received  from  them,  as  vexed  and 
sad  as  he  at  this  sudden  renunciation.  One  thing 
was  plain :  without  admitting  her  reason  as  valid,  they 
knew  what  that  reason  was,  and  did  not  intend  to 
reveal  it. 

A  week  from  that  day  Ambrose  Graye  left  his  friend 
Huntway's  house  and  saw  no  more  of  the  Love  he 
mourned.  From  time  to  time  his  friend  answered  any 
inquiry  Graye  made  by  letter  respecting  her.  But  very 
poor  food  to  a  lover  is  intelligence  of  a  mistress  filtered 
through  a  friend.  Huntway  could  tell  nothing  defi- 
nitely. He  said  he  believed  there  had  been  some  prior 
flirtation  between  Cytherea  and  her  cousin,  an  officer 
of  the  line,  two  or  three  years  before  Graye  met  her, 
which  had  suddenly  been  terminated  by  the  cousin's 
departure  for  India,  and  the  young  lady's  travelling  on 
the  Continent  with  her  parents  the  whole  of  the  ensuing 
summer,  on  account  of  delicate  health.  Eventually 
Huntway  said  that  circumstances  had  rendered  Graye's 
attachment  more  hopeless  still.  Cytherea's  mother  had 
unexpectedly  inherited  a  large  fortune  and  estates  in 
the  west  of  England  by  the  rapid  fall  of  some  inter- 
vening lives.  This  had  caused  their  removal  from  the 
small  house  in  Bloomsbury,  and,  as  it  appeared,  a  re- 
nunciation of  their  old  friends  in  that  quarter. 

Young  Graye  concluded  that  his  Cytherea  had  for- 
gotten him  and  his  love.     But  he  could  not  forget  her. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


2.  From  1843  to  1861 

Eight  years  later,  feeling  lonely  and  depressed — a 
man  without  relatives,  with  many  acquaintances  but  no 
friends — Ambrose  Graye  met  a  young  lady  of  a  different 
kind,  fairly  endowed  with  money  and  good  gifts.     As 
to  caring  very  deeply  for  another  woman  after  the  loss 
of  Cytherea,  it  was  an  absolute  impossibility  with  him. 
With  all,  the  beautiful  things  of  the  earth  become  more  ,. 
dear  as  they  elude  pursuit ;  but  with  some  natures  utter  > 
elusion  is  the  one  special  event  which  will  make  a  pass-j 
ing  love  permanent  for  ever. 

This  second  young  lady  and  Graye  were  married. 
That  he  did  not,  first  or  last,  love  his  wife  as  he  should 
have  done,  was  known  to  all ;  but  few  knew  that  his  un- 
manageable heart  could  never  be  weaned  from  useless 
repining  at  the  loss  of  its  first  idol. 

His  character  to  some  extent  deteriorated,  as  emo- 
tional constitutions  will  under  the  long  sense  of  disap- 
pointment at  having  missed  their  imagined  destiny. 
And  thus,  though  naturally  of  a  gentle  and  pleasant 
disposition,  he  grew  to  be  not  so  tenderly  regarded  by 
his  acquaintances  as  it  is  the  lot  of  some  of  those 
persons  to  be.  The  winning  and  sanguine  receptivity 
of  his  early  life  developed  by  degrees  a  moody  nervous- 
ness, and  when  not  picturing  prospects  drawn  from 
baseless  hope  he  was  the  victim  of  indescribable  de- 
pression. The  practical  issue  of  such  a  condition  was 
improvidence,  originally  almost  an  unconscious  improvi- 
dence, for  every  debt  incurred  had  been  mentally  paid 
off  with  a  religious  exactness  from  the  treasures  of 
expectation  before  mentioned.  But  as  years  revolved, 
the  same  course  was  continued  from  the  lack  of  spirit 
sufficient  for  shifting  out  of  an  old  groove  when  it  has 
been  found  to  lead  to  disaster. 

In  the  year  1861  his  wife  died,  leaving  him  a  widower 
5 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

with  two  children.  The  elder,  a  son  named  Owen, 
now  just  turned  seventeen,  was  taken  from  school,  and 
initiated  as  pupil  to  the  profession  of  architect  in  his 
father's  office.  The  remaining  child  was  a  daughter,  and 
Owen's  junior  by  a  year. 

Her  christian  name  was  Cytherea,  and  it  is  easy  to 
guess  why. 

3.  October  the  Twelfth,  1863 

We  pass  over  two  years  in  order  to  reach  the  next 
cardinal  event  of  these  persons'  lives.  The  scene  is  still 
the  Grayes'  native  town  of  Hocbridge,  but  as  it  appeared 
on  a  Monday  afternoon  in  the  month  of  October. 

The  weather  was  sunny  and  dry,  but  the  ancient 
borough  was  to  be  seen  wearing  one  of  its  least  attractive 
aspects.  First  on  account  of  the  time.  It  was  that 
stagnant  hour  of  the  twenty-four  when  the  practical 
garishness  of  Day,  having  escaped  from  the  fresh  long 
shadows  and  enlivening  newness  of  the  morning,  has 
not  yet  made  any  perceptible  advance  towards  acquiring 
those  mellow  and  soothing  tones  which  grace  its  decline. 
Next,  it  was  that  stage  in  the  progress  of  the  week  when 
business — which,  carried  on  under  the  gables  of  an  old 
country  place,  is  not  devoid  of  a  romantic  sparkle — was 
well-nigh  extinguished.  Lastly,  the  town  was  inten- 
tionally bent  upon  being  attractive  by  exhibiting  to  an 
influx  of  visitors  the  local  talent  for  dramatic  recitation, 
and  provincial  towns  trying  to  be  lively  are  the  dullest 
of  dull  things. 

Little  towns  are  like  little  children  in  this  respect, 
that  they  interest  most  when  they  are  enacting  native 
peculiarities  unconscious  of  beholders.  Discovering 
themselves  to  be  watched  they  attempt  to  be  entertain- 
ing by  putting  on  an  antic,  and  produce  disagreeable 
caricatures  which  spoil  them. 

The   weather-stained   clock-face  in   the  low   church 
6 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

tower  standing  at  the  intersection  of  the  three  chief 
streets  was  expressing  half-past  two  to  the  Town  Hall 
opposite,  where  the  much  talked-of  reading  from  Shake- 
speare was  about  to  begin.  The  doors  were  open,  and 
those  persons  who  had  already  assembled  within  the 
building  were  noticing  the  entrance  of  the  new-comers — 
silently  criticizing  their  dress — questioning  the  genuine- 
ness of  their  teeth  and  hair — estimating  their  private 
means. 

Among  these  later  ones  came  an  exceptional  young 
maiden  who  glowed  amid  the  dulness  like  a  single  bright- 
red  poppy  in  a  field  of  brown  stubble.  She  wore  an 
elegant  dark  jacket,  lavender  dress,  hat  with  grey  strings 
and  trimmings,  and  gloves  of  a  colour  to  harmonize. 
She  lightly  walked  up  the  side  passage  of  the  room,  cast 
a  slight  glance  around,  and  entered  the  seat  pointed  out 
to  her. 

The  young  girl  was  Cytherea  Graye;  her  age  was 
now  about  eighteen.  During  her  entry,  and  at  various 
times  whilst  sitting  in  her  seat  and  listening  to  the 
reader  on  the  platform,  her  personal  appearance  formed 
an  interesting  subject  of  study  for  several  neighbour- 
ing eyes. 

Her  face  was  exceedingly  attractive,  though  artistically 
less  perfect  than  her  figure,  which  approached  unusually 
near  to  the  standard  of  faultlessness.  But  even  this 
feature  of  hers  yielded  the  palm  to  the  gracefulness  of 
her  movement,  which  was  fascinating  and  delightful  to  an 
extreme  degree. 

Indeed,  motion  was  her  speciality,  whether  shown  on 
its  most  extended  scale  of  bodily  progression,  or  minutely, 
as  in  the  uplifting  of  her  eyelids,  the  bending  of  her 
fingers,  the  pouting  of  her  lip.  The  carriage  of  her 
head — motion  within  motion — a  glide  upon  a  glide — 
was  as  delicate  as  that  of  a  magnetic  needle.  And  this 
flexibility  and  elasticity  had  never  been  taught  her  by 
rule,  nor  even  been  acquired  by  observation,  but,  nulla 

7 


# 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

culfu,  had  naturally  developed  itself  with  her  years. 
In  childhood,  a  stone  or  stalk  in  the  way,  which  had 
been  the  inevitable  occasion  of  a  fall  to  her  playmates, 
had  usually  left  her  safe  and  upright  on  her  feet  after 
the  narrowest  escape  by  oscillations  and  whirls  for  the 
preservation  of  her  balance.  At  mixed  Christmas  parties, 
when  she  numbered  but  twelve  or  thirteen  years,  and 
was  heartily  despised  on  that  account  by  lads  who 
deemed  themselves  men,  her  apt  lightness  in  the  dance 
covered  this  incompleteness  in  her  womanhood,  and 
compelled  the  self-same  youths  in  spite  of  resolutions 
to  seize  upon  her  childish  figure  as  a  partner  whom  they 
could  not  afford  to  contemn.  And  in  later  years,  when 
the  instincts  of  her  sex  had  shown  her  this  point  as  the 
best  and  rarest  feature  in  her  external  self,  she  was  not 
found  wanting  in  attention  to  the  cultivation  of  finish 
in  its  details. 

Her  hair  rested  gaily  upon  her  shoulders  in  curls, 
and  was  of  a  shining  corn  yellow  in  the  high  lights, 
deepening  to  a  definite  nut-brown  as  each  curl  wound 
round  into  the  shade.  She  had  eyes  of  a  sapphire  hue, 
though  rather  darker  than  the  gem  ordinarily  appears ; 
they  possessed  the  affectionate  and  licjuid  sparkle  of 
loyalty  and  good  faith  as  distinguishable  from  that 
harder  brightness  which  seems  to  express  faithfulness 
only  to  the  object  confronting  them. 

But  to  attempt  to  gain  a  view  of  her — or  indeed  of 
any  fascinating  woman — from  a  measured  category,  is 
as  difficult  as  to  appreciate  the  effect  of  a  landscape  by 
exploring  it  at  night  with  a  lantern — or  of  a  full  chord 
of  music  by  piping  the  notes  in  succession.  Neverthe- 
less it  may  readily  be  believed  from  the  description  here 
ventured,  that  among  the  many  winning  phases  of  her 
aspect,  these  were  particularly  striking  : — 

During  pleasant  doubt,  when  her  eyes  brightened 
stealthily  and  smiled  (as  eyes  will  smile)  as  distinctly 
as  her  lips,  and  in  Ihe  space  of  a  single  instant  ex- 

8 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

pressed  clearly  the  whole  round  of  degrees  of  expec- 
tancy which  lie  over  the  wide  expanse  between  Yea  and 
Nay. 

During  the  telling  of  a  secret,  which  was  involuntarily 
accompanied  by  a  sudden  minute  start,  and  ecstatic 
pressure  of  the  listener's  arm,  side,  or  neck,  as  the 
position  and  degree  of  intimacy  dictated. 

When  anxiously  regarding  one  who  possessed  her 
affections. 

She  suddenly  assumed  the  last-mentioned  bearing  in 
the  progress  of  the  present  entertainment.  Her  glance 
was  directed  out  of  the  window. 

Why  the  particulars  of  a  young  lady's  presence  at  a 
very  mediocre  performance  were  prevented  from  drop- 
ping into  the  oblivion  which  their  intrinsic  insignifi- 
cance would  naturally  have  involved — why  they  were 
remembered  and  individualized  by  herself  and  others 
through  after  years — was  simply  that  she  unknowingly 
stood,  as  it  were,  upon  the  extreme  posterior  edge  of 
a  tract  in  her  life,  in  which  the  real  meaning  of  Taking 
Thought  had  never  been  known.  It  was  the  last  hour 
of  experience  she  ever  enjoyed  with  a  mind  entirely 
free  from  a  knowledge  of  that  labyrinth  into  which 
she  stepped  immediately  afterwards — to  continue  a  per- 
plexed course  along  its  mazes  for  the  greater  portion  of 
twenty-nine  subsequent  months. 

The  Town  Hall,  in  which  Cytherea  sat,  was  a  building 
of  brown  stone,  and  through  one  of  the  windows  could 
be  seen  from  the  interior  of  the  room  the  housetops  and 
chimneys  of  the  adjacent  street,  and  also  the  upper  part 
of  a  neighbouring  church  spire,  now  in  course  of  com- 
pletion under  the  superintendence  of  Miss  Graye's  father, 
the  architect  to  the  work. 

That  the  top  of  this  spire  should  be  visible  from  her 
position  in  the  room  was  a  fact  which  Cytherea's  idling 
eyes  had  discovered  with  some  interest,  and  she  was  now 
engaged  in  watching  the  scene  that  was  being  enacted 

9 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

about  its  airy  summit.  Round  the  conical  stonework 
rose  a  cage  of  scaffolding  against  the  blue  sky,  and 
upon  this  stood  five  men — four  in  clothes  as  white  as 
the  new  erection  close  beneath  their  hands,  the  fifth  in 
the  ordinary  dark  suit  of  a  gentleman. 

The  four  working-men  in  white  were  three  masons 
and  a  mason's  labourer.  The  fifth  man  was  the  archi- 
tect, Mr.  Graye.  He  had  been  giving  directions  as  it 
seemed,  and  retiring  as  far  as  the  narrow  footway 
allowed,  stood  perfectly  still. 

The  picture  thus  presented  to  a  spectator  in  the 
Town  Hall  was  curious  and  striking.  It  was  an  illumi- 
nated miniature,  framed  in  by  the  dark  margin  of  the 
window,  the  keen-edged  shadiness  of  which  emphasized 
by  contrast  the  softness  of  the  objects  enclosed. 

The  height  of  the  spire  was  about  one  hundred  and 
twenty  feet,  and  the  five  men  engaged  thereon  seemed 
entirely  removed  from  the  sphere  and  experiences  of 
ordinary  human  beings.  They  appeared  little  larger  than 
pigeons,  and  made  their  tiny  movements  with  a  soft, 
spirit-like  silentness.  One  idea  above  all  others  was 
conveyed  to  the  mind  of  a  person  on  the  ground  by 
their  aspect,  namely,  concentration  of  purpose :  that 
they  were  indifferent  to — even  unconscious  of — the  dis- 
tracted world  beneath  them,  and  all  that  moved  upon  it. 
They  never  looked  off  the  scaffolding. 

Then  one  of  them  turned ;  it  was  Mr.  Graye.  Again 
he  stood  motionless,  with  attention  to  the  operations  of 
the  others.  He  appeared  to  be  lost  in  reflection,  and 
had  directed  his  face  towards  a  new  stone  they  were 
lifting. 

'  Why  does  he  stand  like  that  ? '  the  young  lady 
thought  at  length — up  to  that  moment  as  listless  and 
careless  as  one  of  the  ancient  Tarentines,  who,  on  such 
an  afternoon  as  this,  watched  from  the  Theatre  the 
entry  into  their  Harbour  of  a  power  that  overturned 
the  State. 

lO 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

\^^,  She' moved  herself  uneasily.  *I  wish  he  would 
come  down,'  she  whispered,  still  gazing  at  the  sky- 
backed  picture.  '  It  is  so  dangerous  to  be  absent- 
minded  up  there.' 

When  she  had  done  murmuring  the  words  her  fathe 
indecisively  laid  hold  of  one  of  the  scaffold-poles,  ayu 
to  test  its  strength,  then  let  it  go  and  stepped 
In  stepping,  his  foot  slipped.  An  instant  of  doubling 
forward  and  sideways,  and  he  reeled  off  into  the  air, 
immediately  disappearing  downwards.  / 

His  agonized  daughter  rose  to  her  feet  by  a  con- 
vulsive movement.     Her  lips  parted,  and  she  ^sped  for 
breath.     She  could  utter  no  sound.     One  Joy  one  the 
people  about  her,  unconscious  of  what  had'  happened, 
turned    their   heads,    and    inquiry   and   ajiarm    became 
visible  upon  their  faces  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  child, 
moment  longer,  and  she  fell  to  the  flqier, 
The  next  impression  of  which  Cyth^rea  had  any  con- 
sciousness was  of  being  carried  from  a  strange  vehicle 
icross  the  pavement  to  the  steps  91  her  own  house  by 
|her  brother  and  an  older  man.     Recollection  of  what 
lad  passed  evolved  itself  an  instant  later,  and  just  as 
;hey   entered    the   door — through   which    another   and 
j    ladder    burden    had    been    carried    but  a  few  instants 
Defore — her  eyes  caught  sight  of  the  south-western  sky, 
I  md,   without   heeding,   saw   white  sunlight    shining   in 
\  shaft-like  lines  from  a  rift  in  a  slaty  cloud.     Emotions 
V  ivill  attach  themselves  to  scenes  that  are  simultaneous — 
liowever  foreign  in  essence  these  scenes   may   be — as 
:hemical    waters    will   crystallize   on    twigs    and    wires. 
Even   after   that   time  any  mental   agony  brought   less 
vividly  to  Cytherea's   mind   the  scene   from   the  Town 
Hall   windows    than    sunlight    streaming    in   shaft-like 
lines. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


4.  October  the  Nineteenth 

When  death  enters  a  house,  an  element  of  sadness 
and  an  element  of  horror  accompany  it.  Sadness,  from 
the  death  itself:  horror,  from  the  clouds  of  blackness 
we  designedly  labour  to  introduce. 

The  funeral  had  taken  place.  Depressed,  yet  re- 
solved in  his  demeanour,  Owen  Graye  sat  before  his 
father's  private  escritoire,  engaged  in  turning  out  and 
unfolding  a  heterogeneous  collection  of  papers — for- 
bidding and  inharmonious  to  the  eye  at  all  times — 
most  of  all  to  one  under  the  influence  of  a  great  grief. 
Laminae  of  white  paper  tied  with  twine  were  indiscrimi- 
nately intermixed  with  other  white  papers  bounded  by 
black  edges — these  with  blue  foolscap  wrapped  round 
with  crude  red  tape. 

The  bulk  of  these  letters,  bills,  and  other  documents 
were  submitted  to  a  careful  examination,  by  which  the 
appended  particulars  were  ascertained  : — 

First,  that  their  father's  income  from  professional 
sources  had  been  very  small,  amounting  to  not  more 
than  half  their  expenditure ;  and  that  his  own  and  his 
wife's  property,  upon  which  he  had  relied  for  the 
balance,  had  been  sunk  and  lost  in  unwise  loans  to 
unscrupulous  men,  who  had  traded  upon  their  father's 
too  open-hearted  trustfulness. 

Second,  that  finding  his  mistake,  he  had  endeavoured 
to  regain  his  standing  by  the  illusory  path  of  speculation. 
The  most  notable  instance  of  this  was  the  following. 
He  had  been  induced,  when  at  Plymouth  in  the  autumn 
of  the  previous  year,  to  venture  all  his  spare  capital  on 
the  bottomry  security  of  an  Italian  brig  which  had  put 
into  the  harbour  in  distress.  The  profit  was  to  be  con- 
siderable, so  was  the  risk.  There  turned  out  to  be  no 
security  whatever.  The  circumstances  of  the  case 
rendered  it  the  most   unfortunate   speculation   that   a 

12 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

man  like  himself — ignorant  of  all  such  matters — could 
possibly  engage  in.  The  vessel  vrent  down,  and  all 
Mr.  Graye's  money  with  it. 

Third,  that  these  failures  had  left  him  burdened  with 
debts  he  knew  not  how  to  meet ;  so  that  at  the  time  of 
his  death  even  the  few  pounds  lying  to  his  account  at 
the  bank  were  his  only  in  name. 

Fourth,  that  the  loss  of  his  wife  two  years  earlier  had 
awakened  him  to  a  keen  sense  of  his  blindness,  and 
of  his  duty  by  his  children.  He  had  then  resolved  to 
reinstate  by  unflagging  zeal  in  the  pursuit  of  his  pro- 
fession, and  by  no  speculation,  at  least  a  portion  of  the 
little  fortune  he  had  let  go. 

Cytherea  was  frequently  at  her  brother's  elbow  during 
these  examinations.     She  often  remarked  sadly — 

'  Poor  papa  failed  to  fulfil  his  good  intention  for 
want  of  time,  didn't  he,  Owen  ?  And  there  was  an 
excuse  for  his  past,  though  he  never  would  claim  it.  I 
never  forget  that  original  disheartening  blow,  and  how 
that  from  it  sprang  all  the  ills  of  his  life — everything 
connected  with  his  gloom,  and  the  lassitude  in  business 
we  used  so  often  to  see  about  him.' 

'  I  remember  what  he  said  once,'  returned  the  brother, 
'  when  I  sat  up  late  with  him.  He  said,  "  Owen,  don't 
love  too  blindly :  blindly  you  will  love  if  you  love  at  all, 
but  a  little  care  is  still  possible  to  a  well-disciplined 
heart.  May  that  heart  be  yours  as  it  was  not  mine," 
father  said.  "Cultivate  the  art  of  renunciation"  And 
I  am  going  to,  Cytherea.' 

'  And  once  mamma  said  that  an  excellent  woman 
was  papa's  ruin,  because  he  did  not  know  the  way  to 
give  her  up  when  he  had  lost  her.  I  wonder  where  she 
is  now,  Owen  ?  We  were  told  not  to  try  to  find  out 
anything  about  her.  Papa  never  told  us  her  name, 
did  he  ? ' 

'  That  was  by  her  own  request,  I  believe.  But  never 
mind  her ;  she  was  not  our  mother.' 

13 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

The  love  affair  which  had  been  Ambrose  Graye's 
disheartening  blow  was  precisely  of  that  nature  which 
lads  take  little  account  of,  but  girls  ponder  in  theij 
hearts. 

5.  From  October  the  Nineteenth  to  July 
THE  Ninth 

Thus  Ambrose  Graye's  good  intentions  with  regard 
to  the  reintegration  of  his  property  had  scarcely  taken 
tangible  form  when  his  sudden  death  put  them  for  ever 
out  of  his  power. 

Heavy  bills,  showing  the  extent  of  his  obligations, 
tumbled  in  immediately  upon  the  heels  of  the  funeral 
from  quarters  previously  unheard  and  unthought  of 
Thus  pressed,  a  bill  was  filed  in  Chancery  to  have  the 
assets,  such  as  they  were,  administered  by  the  Court. 

'  What  will  become  of  us  now  ?  '  thought  Owen  con- 
tinually. 

There  is  in  us  an  unquenchable  expectation,  which 
at  the  gloomiest  time  persists  in  inferring  that  because 
we  are  ourselves,  there  must  be  a  special  future  in  store 
for  us,  though  our  nature  and  antecedents  to  the  remotest 
particular  have  been  common  to  thousands.  /  Thus  to 
Cytherea  and  Owen  Graye  the  question  how  their  lives 
would  end  seemed  the  deepest  of  possible  enigmas.  To 
others  who  knew  their  position  equally  well  with  them- 
selves the  question  was  the  easiest  that  could  be  asked 
— '  Like  those  of  other  people  similarly  circumstanced.' 

Then  Owen  held  a  consultation  with  his  sister  to 
come  to  some  decision  on  their  future  course,  and  a 
month  was  passed  in  waiting  for  answers  to  letters,  and 
in  the  examination  of  schemes  more  or  less  futile. 
Sudden  hopes  that  were  rainbows  to  the  sight  proved 
but  mists  to  the  touch.  In  the  meantime,  unpleasant 
remarks,  disguise  them  as  some  well-meaning  people 
might,  were  floating  around  them  every  day.     The  un- 

14 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

doubted  truth,  that  they  were  the  children  of  a  dreamer 
who  let  slip  away  every  farthing  of  his  money  and  ran 
into  debt  with  his  neighbours — that  the  daughter  had 
been  brought  up  to  no  profession — that  the  son  who 
had,  had  made  no  progress  in  it,  and  might  come  to  the 
dogs — could  not  from  the  nature  of  things  be  wrapped 
up  in  silence  in  order  that  it  might  not  hurt  their 
feelings ;  and  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  greeted  their  ears 
in  some  form  or  other  wherever  they  went.  Their  few 
acquaintances  passed  them  hurriedly.  Ancient  pot- 
wallopers,  and  thriving  shopkeepers,  in  their  intervals  of 
leisure,  stood  at  their  shop-doors — their  toes  hanging 
over  the  edge  of  the  step,  and  their  obese  waists  hanging 
over  their  toes — and  in  discourses  with  friends  on  the 
pavement,  formulated  the  course  of  the  improvident,  and 
reduced  the  children's  prospects  to  a  shadow-like  attenu- 
ation. The  sons  of  these  men  (who  wore  breastpins  of 
a  sarcastic  kind,  and  smoked  humorous  pipes)  stared  at 
Cytherea  with  a  stare  unmitigated  by  any  of  the  respect 
that  had  formerly  softened  it. 

(  Now  it  is  a  noticeable  fact  that  we  do  not  much 
mind  what  men  think  of  us,  or  what  humiliating  secret 
they  discover  of  our  means,  parentage,  or  object,  pro- 
vided that  each  thinks  and  acts  thereupon  in  isolation.  , 
It  is  the  exchange  of  ideas  about  us  that  we  dread 
most ;  and  the  possession  by  a  hundred  acquaintances, 
severally  insulated,  of  the  knowledge  of  our  skeleton- 
closet's  whereabouts,  is  not  so  distressing  to  the  nerves 
as  a  chat  over  it  by  a  party  of  half-a-dozen — exclusive 
depositaries  though  these  may  be. 

Perhaps,  though  Hocbridge  watched  and  whispered, 
its  animus  would  have  been  little  more  than  a  trifle  to 
persons  in  thriving  circumstances.  But  unfortunately, 
poverty,  whilst  it  is  new,  and  before  the  skin  has  had 
time  to  thicken,  makes  people  susceptible  inversely  to 
their  opportunities  for  shielding  themselves.  In  Owen 
was    found,   in    place    of  his    father's  impressibility,   a 

15 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

larger  share  of  his  father's  pride,  and  a  squareness  of 
idea  which,  if  coupled  with  a  little  more  blindness, 
would  have  amounted  to  positive  prejudice.  (  To  him 
humanity,  so  far  as  he  had  thought  of  it  at  all,  was 
rather  divided  into  distinct  classes  than  blended  from 
extreme  to  extreme.  Hence  by  a  sequence  of  ideas 
which  might  be  traced  if  it  were  worth  while,  he  either 
detested  or  respected  opinion,  and  instinctively  sought 
to  escape  a  cold  shade  that  mere  sensitiveness  would 
have  endured.  He  could  have  submitted  to  separa- 
tion, sickness,  exile,  drudgery,  hunger  and  thirst,  with 
stoical  indifference,  but  superciliousness  was  too  in- 
cisive.; 

After  living  on  for  nine  months  in  attempts  to  make 
an  income  as  his  father's  successor  in  the  profession 
— attempts  which  were  utterly  fruitless  by  reason  of 
his  inexperience — Graye  came  to  a  simple  and  sweep- 
ing resolution.  They  would  privately  leave  that  part 
of  England,  drop  from  the  sight  of  acquaintances, 
gossips,  harsh  critics,  and  bitter  creditors  of  whose 
misfortune  he  was  not  the  cause,  and  escape  the 
position  which  galled  him  by  the  only  road  their  great 
poverty  left  open  to  them — that  of  his  obtaining  some 
employment  in  a  distant  place  by  following  his  pro- 
fession as  a  humble  under-draughtsman. 

He  thought  over  his  capabilities  with  the  sensations 
of  a  soldier  grinding  his  sword  at  the  opening  of  a 
campaign.  What  with  lack  of  employment,  owing  to 
the  decrease  of  his  late  father's  practice,  and  the 
absence  of  direct  and  uncompromising  pressure  to- 
wards monetary  results  from  a  pupil's  labour  (which 
seems  to  be  always  the  case  when  a  professional  man's 
pupil  is  also  his  son),  Owen's  progress  in  the  art  and 
science  of  architecture  had  been  very  insignificant 
indeed.  Though  anything  but  an  idle  young  man, 
he  had  hardly  reached  the  age  at  which  industrious 
men    who   lack    an    external    whip    to    send    them    on 

i6 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

in  the  world,  are  induced  by  their  own  common  sense 
to  whip  on  themselves.  Hence  his  knowledge  of  plans, 
elevations,  sections,  and  specifications,  was  not  greater 
at  the  end  of  two  years  of  probation  than  might  easily 
have  been  acquired  in  six  months  by  a  youth  of  average 
ability — himself,  for  instance — amid  a  bustling  London 
practice. 

But  at  any  rate  he  could  make  himself  handy  to 
one  of  the  profession — some  man  in  a  remote  town — 
and  there  fulfil  his  indentures.  A  tangible  inducement 
lay  in  this  direction  of  survey.  He  had  a  slight  con- 
ception of  such  a  man — a  Mr.  Gradfield — who  was 
in  practice  in  Budmouth  Regis,  a  seaport  town  and 
watering-place  in  the  south  of  England. 

After  some  doubts,  Graye  ventured  to  write  to  this 
gentleman,  asking  the  necessary  question,  shortly  allud- 
ing to  his  father's  death,  and  stating  that  his  term  of 
apprenticeship  had  only  half  expired.  He  would  be 
glad  to  complete  his  articles  at  a  very  low  salary  for 
the  whole  remaining  two  years,  provided  payment  could 
begin  at  once. 

The  answer  from  Mr.  Gradfield  stated  that  he  was 
not  in  want  of  a  pupil  who  would  serve  the  remainder 
of  his  time  on  the  terms  Mr.  Graye  mentioned.  But 
he  would  just  add  one  remark.  He  chanced  to  be 
in  want  of  some  young  man  in  his  office — for  a  short 
time  only,  probably  about  two  months — to  trace  draw- 
ings, and  attend  to  other  subsidiary  work  of  the  kind. 
If  Mr.  Graye  did  not  object  to  occupy  such  an  inferior 
position  as  these  duties  would  entail,  and  to  accept 
weekly  wages  which  to  one  with  his  expectations  would 
be  considered  merely  nominal,  the  post  would  give  him 
an  opportunity  for  learning  a  few  more  details  of  the 
profession. 

*  It  is  a  beginning,  and,  above  all,  an  abiding-place, 
away  from  the  shadow  of  the  cloud  which  hangs  over  us 
here — I  will  go,'  said  Owen. 

17  D 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Cytherea's  plan  for  her  future,  an  intensely  simple 
one,  owing  to  the  even  greater  narrowness  of  her  re- 
sources, was  already  marked  out.  One  advantage  had 
accrued  to  her  through  her  mother's  possession  of  a  fair 
share  of  personal  property,  and  perhaps  only  one.  She 
had  been  carefully  educated.  Upon  this  consideration 
her  plan  was  based.  She  was  to  take  up  her  abode  in 
her  brother's  lodging  at  Budmouth,  when  she  would  im- 
mediately advertise  for  a  situation  as  governess,  having 
obtained  the  consent  of  a  lawyer  at  Aldbrickham  who 
was  winding  up  her  father's  affairs,  and  who  knew  the 
history  of  her  position,  to  allow  himself  to  be  referred  to 
in  the  matter  of  her  past  life  and  respectability. 

Early  one  morning  they  departed  from  their  native 
town,  leaving  behind  them  scarcely  a  trace  of  their 
footsteps. 

Then  the  town  pitied  their  want  of  wisdom  in  taking 
such  a  step.  '  Rashness ;  they  would  have  made  a 
better  income  in  Hocbridge,  where  they  are  known ! 
There  is  no  doubt  that  they  would.' 

But  what  is  Wisdom  really  ?  A  steady  handHng  of  any 
means  to  bring  about  any  end  necessary  to  happiness. 

Yet  whether  one's  end  be  the  usual  end — a  wealthy 
position  in  life— or  no,  the  name  of  wisdom  is  seldom 
applied  but  to  the  means  to  that  usual  end.  ) 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


II 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

A  FORTNIGHT 

I.  The  Ninth  of  July 

1  HE  day  of  their  departure  was  one  of  the  most  glow- 
ing that  the  climax  of  a  long  series  of  summer  heats 
could  evolve.  The  wide  expanse  of  landscape  quivered 
up  and  down  like  the  flame  of  a  taper,  as  they  steamed 
along  through  the  midst  of  it.  Placid  flocks  of  sheep 
reclining  under  trees  a  little  way  off  appeared  of  a  pale 
blue  colour.  Clover  fields  were  livid  with  the  brightness 
of  the  sun  upon  their  deep  red  flowers.  All  waggons 
and  carts  were  moved  to  the  shade  by  their  careful 
owners ;  rain-water  butts  fell  to  pieces ;  well-buckets 
were  lowered  inside  the  covers  of  the  well-hole,  to  pre- 
serve them  from  the  fate  of  the  butts,  and  generally, 
water  seemed  scarcer  in  the  country  than  the  beer  and 
cider  of  the  peasantry  who  toiled  or  idled  there. 

1  To  see  persons  looking  with  children's  eyes  at  any 
ordinary  scenery,  is  a  proof  that  they  possess  the  charm- 
ing faculty  of  drawing  new  sensations  from  an  old  ex- 
perience— a  healthy  sign,  rare  in  these  feverish  days — 
the  mark  of  an  imperishable  brightness  of  nature. 

Both  brother  and  sister  could  do  this ;  Cytherea  more 
19 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

noticeably.  They  watched  the  undulating  corn-lands, 
monotonous  to  all  their  companions ;  the  stony  and 
clayey  prospect  succeeding  those,  with  its  angular  and 
abrupt  hills.  Boggy  moors  came  next,  now  withered 
and  dry — the  spots  upon  which  pools  usually  spread 
their  waters  showing  themselves  as  circles  of  smooth 
bare  soil,  over-run  by  a  net-work  of  innumerable  little 
fissures.  Then  arose  plantations  of  firs,  abruptly  ter- 
minating beside  meadows  cleanly  mown,  in  which  high- 
hipped,  rich-coloured  cows,  with  backs  horizontal  and 
straight  as  the  ridge  of  a  house,  stood  motionless  or 
lazily  fed.  GHmpses  of  the  sea  now  interested  them, 
which  became  more  and  more  frequent  till  the  train 
finally  drew  up  beside  the  platform  at  Budmouth. 

'  The  whole  town  is  looking  out  for  us,'  had  been 
Graye's  impression  throughout  the  day.  He  called 
upon  Mr.  Gradfield — the  only  man  who  had  been 
directly  informed  of  his  coming — and  found  that  Mr. 
Gradfield  had  forgotten  it. 

However,  arrangements  were  made  with  this  gentle- 
man— a  stout,  active,  grey-bearded  burgher  of  sixty — 
by  which  Owen  was  to  commence  work  in  his  office  the 
following  week. 

The  same  day  Cytherea  drew  up  and  sent  off  the 
advertisement  appended : — 

'A  YOUNG  LADY  is  desirous  of  meeting  with  an  engage- 
ment as  GOVERNESS  or  COMPANION.  She  is  competent  to  teach 
English,  French,  and  Music.  Satisfactory  references. — Address, 
C.  G.,  Post-Office,  Budmouth.' 

It  seemed  a  more  material  existence  than  her  own 
that  she  saw  thus  delineated  on  the  paper.  '  That  can't 
be  myself;  how  odd  I  look  1 '  she  said,  and  smiled. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


2.  July  the  Eleventh 


On  the  Monday  subsequent  to  their  arrival  in 
Budmouth,  Owen  Graye  attended  at  Mr.  Gradfield's 
office  to  enter  upon  his  duties,  and  his  sister  was  left 
in  their  lodgings  alone  for  the  first  time. 

Despite  the  sad  occurrences  of  the  preceding  autumn, 
an  unwonted  cheerfulness  pervaded  her  spirit  through- 
out the  day.  Change  of  scene — and  that  to  un  travelled 
eyes — conjoined  with  the  sensation  of  freedom  from 
supervision,  revived  the  sparkle  of  a  warm  young 
nature  ready  enough  to  take  advantage  of  any  adven- 
titious restoratives.  Point-blank  grief  tends  rather  to 
seal  up  happiness  for  a  time  than  to  produce  that 
attrition  which  results  from  griefs  of  anticipation  that 
move  onward  with  the  days :  these  may  be  said  to 
furrow  away  the  capacity  for  pleasure. 

Her  expectations  from  the  advertisement  began  to 
be  extravagant.  A  thriving  family,  who  had  always 
sadly  needed  her,  was  already  definitely  pictured  in 
her  fancy,  which,  in  its  exuberance,  led  her  on  to 
picturing  its  individual  members,  their  possible  pecu- 
liarities, virtues,  and  vices,  and  obliterated  for  a  time 
the  recollection  that  she  would  be  separated  from  her 
brother. 

Thus  musing,  as  she  waited  for  his  return  in  the 
evening,  her  eyes  fell  on  her  left  hand.  The  contem- 
plation of  her  own  left  fourth  finger  by  symbol-loving 
girlhood  of  this  age  is,  it  seems,  very  frequently,  if  not 
always,  followed  by  a  peculiar  train  of  romantic  ideas. 
Cytherea's  thoughts,  still  playing  about  her  future, 
became  directed  into  this  romantic  groove.  She  leant 
back  in  her  chair,  and  taking  hold  of  the  fourth  finger, 
which  had  attracted  her  attention,  she  lifted  it  with 
the  tips  of  the  others,  and  looked  at  the  smooth  and 
tapering  member  for  a  long  time. 


21. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

She  whispered  idly,  *  I  wonder  who  and  what  he 
will  be  ? ' 

*  If  he's  a  gentleman  of  fashion,  he  will  take  my 
finger  so,  just  with  the  tips  of  his  own,  and  with  some 
fluttering  of  the  heart,  and  the  least  trembling  of  his 
lip,  slip  the  ring  so  lightly  on  that  I  shall  hardly  know 
it  is  there — looking  delightfully  into  my  eyes  all  the 
time. 

'  If  he's  a  bold,  dashing  soldier,  I  expect  he  will 
proudly  turn  round,  take  the  ring  as  if  it  equalled  her 
Majesty's  crown  in  value,  and  desperately  set  it  on  my 
finger  thus.  He  will  fix  his  eyes  unflinchingly  upon 
what  he  is  doing — ^just  as  if  he  stood  in  battle  before 
the  enemy  (though,  in  reality,  very  fond  of  me,  of 
course),  and  blush  as  much  as  I  shall. 

'  If  he's  a  sailor,  he  will  take  my  finger  and  the 
ring  in  this  way,  and  deck  it  out  with  a  housewifely 
touch  and  a  tenderness  of  expression  about  his  mouth, 
as  sailors  do :  kiss  it,  perhaps,  with  a  simple  air,  as  if 
we  were  children  playing  an  idle  game,  and  not  at  the 
very  height  of  observation  and  envy  by  a  great  crowd 
saying,  "  Ah  !  they  are  happy  now !  " 

*  If  he  should  be  rather  a  poor  man — noble-minded 
and  affectionate,  but  still  poor ' 

Owen's  footsteps  rapidly  ascending  the  stairs,  inter- 
rupted this  fancy-free  meditation.  Reproaching  herself, 
even  angry  with  herself  for  allowing  her  mind  to  stray 
upon  such  subjects  in  the  face  of  their  present  desperate 
condition,  she  rose  to  meet  him,  and  make  tea. 

Cytherea's  interest  to  know  how  her  brother  had 
been  received  at  Mr.  Gradfield's  broke  forth  into  words 
at  once.  Almost  before  they  had  sat  down  to  table, 
she  began  cross-examining  him  in  the  regular  sisterly 
way. 

'  Well,  Owen,  how  has  it  been  with  you  to-day  ? 
What  is  the  place  like — do  you  think  you  will  hke  Mr. 
Gradfield  ? ' 

22 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  O  yes.  But  he  has  not  been  there  to-day ;  I  have 
only  had  the  head  draughtsman  with  me.' 

Young  women  have  a  habit,  not  noticeable  in  men,  of 
putting  on  at  a  moment's  notice  the  drama  of  whosoever's 
life  they  choose.  Cytherea's  interest  was  transferred 
from  Mr.  Gradfield  to  his  representative. 

'  What  sort  of  a  man  is  he  ? ' 

'  He  seems  a  very  nice  fellow  indeed ;  though  of 
course  I  can  hardly  tell  to  a  certainty  as  yet.  But  I 
think  he's  a  very  worthy  fellow;  there's  no  nonsense 
in  him,  and  though  he  is  not  a  public  school  man  he 
has  read  widely,  and  has  a  sharp  appreciation  of  what's 
good  in  books  and  art.  In  fact,  his  knowledge  isn't 
nearly  so  exclusive  as  most  professional  men's.' 

'  That's  a  great  deal  to  say  of  an  architect,  for  of  all 
professional  men  they  are,  as  a  rule,  the  most  pro- 
fessional.' 

'  Yes ;  perhaps  they  are.  This  man  is  rather  of  a 
melancholy  turn  of  mind,  I  think.' 

'  Has  the  managing  clerk  any  family  ? '  she  mildly 
asked,  after  a  while,  pouring  out  some  more  tea. 

'  Family ;  no  ! ' 

*  Well,  dear  Owen,  how  shoiild  I  know  ? ' 

'  Why,  of  course  he  isn't  married.  But  there  hap- 
pened to  be  a  conversation  about  women  going  on  in 
the  office,  and  I  heard  him  say  what  he  should  wish  his 
wife  to  be  like.' 

'  What  would  he  wish  his  wife  to  be  like  ?  *  she  said, 
with  great  apparent  lack  of  interest. 

'  O,  he  says  she  must  be  girlish  and  artless :  yet  he 
would  be  loth  to  do  without  a  dash  of  womanly  subtlety, 
'tis  so  piquant.  Yes,  he  said,  that  must  be  in  her;  she 
must  have  womanly  cleverness.  "  And  yet  I  should 
like  her  to  blush  if  only  a  cock-sparrow  were  to  look  at 
her  hard,"  he  said,  "  which  brings  me  back  to  the  girl 
again :  and  so  I  flit  backwards  and  forwards.  I  must 
have  what  comes,  I  suppose,"  he  said,   "  and  whatever 

23 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

she  may  be,  thank  God  she's  no  worse.  However,  if  he 
might  give  a  final  hint  to  Providence,"  he,  said,  "  a  child 
among  pleasures,  and  a  woman  among  pains  was  the 
rough  outUne  of  his  requirement."  ' 

'  Did  he  say  that  ?  What  a  musing  creature  he 
must  be.' 

'  He  did,  indeed.' 


3.  From  the  Twelfth  to  the  Fifteenth  of  July 

As  is  well  known,  ideas  are  so  elastic  in  a  human 
brain,  that  they  have  no  constant  measure  which  may  be 
called  their  actual  bulk.  Any  important  idea  may  be 
compressed  to  a  molecule  by  an  unwonted  crowding  of 
others ;  and  any  small  idea  will  expand  to  whatever 
length  and  breadth  of  vacuum  the  mind  may  be  able  to 
make  over  to  it.)  Cytherea's  world  was  tolerably  vacant 
at  this  time,  and  the  young  architectural  designer's 
image  became  very  pervasive.  The  next  evening  this 
subject  was  again  renewed. 

'  His  name  is  Springrove,'  said  Owen,  in  reply  to  her. 
'  He  is  a  thorough  artist,  but  a  man  of  rather  humble 
origin,  it  seems,  who  has  made  himself  so  far.  I  think 
he  is  the  son  of  a  farmer,  or  something  of  the  kind.' 
'  Well,  he's  none  the  worse  for  that,  I  suppose.' 
'  None  the  worse.  As  we  come  down  the  hill,  we 
shall  be  continually  meeting  people  going  up.'  But 
Owen  had  felt  that  Springrove  was  a  little  the  worse, 
nevertheless. 

'  Of  course  he's  rather  old  by  this  time.' 
'O  no.     He's  about  six-and-twenty-  not  more.' 
'  Ah,  I  see.  .   .   .  What  is  he  like,  Owen  ?  ' 
*  I  can't  exactly  tell  you  his  appearance  :   'tis  always 
such  a  difficult  thing  to  do.' 

'  A  man  you  would  descril^  as  short  ?  Most  men 
are  those  we  should  describe  as  short,  I  fancy.' 

24 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'I  should  call  him,  I  think,  of  the  middle  height; 
but  as  I  only  see  him  sitting  in  the  office,  of  course  I 
am  not  certain  about  his  form  and  figure.' 

'  I  wish  you  were,  then.' 

'  Perhaps  you  do.     But  I  am  not,  you  see.' 

'  Of  course  not,  you  are  always  so  provoking.  Owen, 
I  saw  a  man  in  the  street  to-day  whom  I  fancied  was 
he — and  yet,  I  don't  see  how  it  could  be,  either.  He 
had  light  brown  hair,  a  snub  nose,  very  round  face,  and 
a  peculiar  habit  of  reducing  his  eyes  to  straight  lines 
when  he  looked  narrowly  at  anything.' 

'  O  no.     That  was  not  he,  Cytherea.' 

'  Not  a  bit  like  him  in  all  probability.' 

•Not  a  bit.  He  has  dark  hair^ — almost  a  Grecian 
nose,  regular  teeth,  and  an  intellectual  face,  as  nearly 
as  I  can  recall  to  mind.' 

'  Ah,  there  now,  Owen,  you  have  described  him ! 
But  I  suppose  he's  not  generally  called  pleasing, 
or ' 

'  Handsome  ? ' 

*  I  scarcely  meant  that  But  since  you  have  said  it, 
is  he  handsome  ? ' 

'  Rather.' 

'  His  tout  ensemble  is  striking  ?  ' 

<  Yes — O  no,  no — I  forgot :  it  is  not.  He  is  rather 
untidy  in  his  waistcoat,  and  neck-ties,  and  hair.' 

'  How  vexing  !  ...  it  must  be  to  himself,  poor  thing.' 

'  He's  a  thorough  bookworm — despises  the  pap-and- 
daisy  school  of  verse — knows  Shakespeare  to  the  very 
dregs  of  the  foot-notes.  Indeed,  he's  a  poet  himself  in 
a  small  way.' 

•  How  delicious  ! '  she  said.  '  I  have  never  known  a 
poet.' 

'  And  you  don't  know  him,'  said  Owen  dryly. 
She  reddened.      '  Of  course  I  don't.     I  know  that.' 
'  Have  you  received  any   answer  to  your  advertise- 
ment ? '  he  inquired. 

25 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*  Ah — no  ! '  she  said,  and  the  forgotten  disappoint- 
ment which  had  showed  itself  in  her  face  at  different 
times  during  the  day,  became  visible  again. 

Another  day  passed  away.  On  Thursday,  without 
inquiry,  she  learnt  more  of  the  head  draughtsman.  He 
and  Graye  had  become  very  friendly,  and  he  had  been 
tempted  to  show  her  brother  a  copy  of  some  poems 
of  his — some  serious  and  sad — some  humorous — which 
had  appeared  in  the  poets'  corner  of  a  magazine  from 
time  to  time.  Owen  showed  them  now  to  Cytherea, 
who  instantly  began  to  read  them  carefully  and  to  think 
them  very  beautiful. 

'  Yes — Springrove's  no  fool,'  said  Owen  sententiously. 

'  No  fool ! — I  should  think  he  isn't,  indeed,'  said 
Cytherea,  looking  up  from  the  paper  in  quite  an  excite- 
ment :   '  to  write  such  verses  as  these  ! ' 

'  What  logic  are  you  chopping,  Cytherea  ?  Well,  I 
don't  mean  on  account  of  the  verses,  because  I  haven't 
read  them ;  but  for  what  he  said  when  the  fellows  were 
talking  about  falling  in  love.' 

'  Which  you  will  tell  me  ?  ' 

'  He  says  that  your  true  lover  breathlessly  finds  him- 
self engaged  to  a  sweetheart,  like  a  man  who  has  caught 
something  in  the  dark.  He  doesn't  know  whether  it  is 
a  bat  or  a  bird,  and  takes  it  to  the  light  when  he  is  cool 
to  learn  what  it  is.  He  looks  to  see  if  she  is  the  right 
age,  but  right  age  or  wrong  age,  he  must  consider  her  a 
prize.  Sometime  later  he  ponders  whether  she  is  the 
right  kind  of  prize  for  him.  Right  kind  or  wrong  kind 
— he  has  called  her  his,  and  must  abide  by  it.  After  a 
time  he  asks  himself,  "  Has  she  the  temper,  hair,  and 
eyes  I  meant  to  have,  and  was  firmly  resolved  not  to  do 
without?"  He  finds  it  is  all  wrong,  and  then  comes 
the  tussle ' 

*  Do  they  marry  and  live  happily  ? ' 

'  Who  ?  O,  the  supposed  pair.  I  think  he  said — 
well,  I  really  forget  what  he  said.' 

26 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  That  ts  stupid  of  you ! '  said  the  young  lady  with 
dismay. 

'  Yes.' 

'  But  he's  a  satirist — I  don't  think  I  care  about  him 
now,' 

'  There  you  are  just  wrong.  He  is  not.  He  is,  as 
I  believe,  an  impulsive  fellow  who  has  been  made  to 
pay  the  penalty  of  his  rashness  in  some  love  affair.' 

Thus  ended  the  dialogue  of  Thursday,  but  Cytherea 
read  the  verses  again  in  private.  On  Friday  her  brother 
remarked  that  Springrove  had  informed  him  he  was 
going  to  leave  Mr.  Gradfield's  in  a  fortnight  to  push 
his  fortunes  in  London. 

An  indescribable  feeling  of  sadness  shot  through 
Cytherea's  heart.  Why  should  she  be  sad  at  such  an 
announcement  as  that,  she  thought,  concerning  a  man 
she  had  never  seen,  when  her  spirits  were  elastic  enough 
to  rebound  after  hard  blows  from  deep  and  real  troubles 
as  if  she  had  scarcely  known  them  ?  Though  she  could 
not  answer  this  question,  she  knew  one  thing,  she  was 
saddened  by  Owen's  news. 


4.  July  the  Twenty-First 

A  very  popular  local  excursion  by  steamboat  to 
Lulstead  Cove  was  announced  through  the  streets  of 
Budmouth  one  Thursday  morning  by  the  weak-voiced 
town-crier,  to  start  at  six  o'clock  the  same  day.  The 
weather  was  lovely,  and  the  opportunity  being  the  first 
of  the  kind  offered  to  them,  Owen  and  Cytherea  went 
with  the  rest. 

They  had  reached  the  Cove,  and  had  walked  landward 
for  nearly  an  hour  over  the  hill  which  rose  beside  the 
strand,  when  Graye  recollected  that  two  or  three  miles  yet 
further  inland  from  this  spot  was  an  interesting  mediaeval 
ruin.     He  was  already  familiar  with  its  characteristics 

87 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

through  the  medium  of  an  archaeological  work,  and  now 
finding  himself  so  close  to  the  reality,  felt  inclined  to 
verify  some  theory  he  had  formed  respecting  it.  Con- 
cluding that  there  would  be  just  sufficient  time  for  him 
to  go  there  and  return  before  the  boat  had  left  the  shore, 
he  parted  from  Cytherea  on  the  hill,  struck  downwards, 
and  then  up  a  heathery  valley. 

She  remained  on  the  summit  where  he  had  left  her 
till  the  time  of  his  expected  return,  scanning  the  details 
of  the  prospect  around.  Placidly  spread  out  before  her 
on  the  south  was  the  open  Channel,  reflecting  a  blue 
intenser  by  many  shades  than  that  of  the  sky  overhead, 
and  dotted  in  the  foreground  by  half-a-dozen  small  craft 
of  contrasting  rig,  their  sails  graduating  in  hue  from 
extreme  whiteness  to  reddish  brown,  the  varying  actual 
colours  varied  again  in  a  double  degree  by  the  rays  of 
the  decUning  sun. 

Presently  the  distant  bell  from  the  boat  was  heard, 
warning  the  passengers  to  embark.  This  was  followed 
l)y  a  lively  air  from  the  harps  and  violins  on  board,  their 
tones,  as  they  arose,  becoming  intermingled  with,  though 
not  marred  by,  the  brush  of  the  waves  when  their  crests 
rolled  over — at  the  point  where  the  check  of  the  shallows 
was  first  felt — and  then  thinned  away  up  the  slope  of 
pebbles  and  sand. 

She  turned  her  face  landward  and  strained  her  eyes 
to  discern,  if  possible,  some  sign  of  Owen's  return. 
Nothing  was  visible  save  the  strikingly  brilliant,  still 
landscape.  The  wide  concave  which  lay  at  the  back 
of  the  hill  in  this  direction  was  blazing  with  the  western 
light,  adding  an  orange  tint  to  the  vivid  purple  of  the 
heather,  now  at  the  very  climax  of  bloom,  and  free  from 
the  slightest  touch  of  the  invidious  brown  that  so  soon 
creeps  into  its  shades.  The  light  so  intensified  the 
colours  that  they  seemed  to  stand  above  the  surface  of  the 
earth  and  float  in  mid-air  like  an  exhalation  of  red.  In 
the  minor  valleys,  between  the  hillocks  and  ridges  which 

28 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

diversified  the  contour  of  the  basin,  but  did  not  disturb 
its  general  sweep,  she  marked  brakes  of  tall,  heavy- 
stemmed  ferns,  five  or  six  feet  high,  in  a  brilliant  light- 
green  dress — a  broad  riband  of  them  with  the  path  in 
their  midst  winding  like  a  stream  along  the  little  ravine 
that  reached  to  the  foot  of  the  hill,  and  delivered  up 
the  path  to  its  grassy  area.  Among  the  ferns  grew  holly 
bushes  deeper  in  tint  than  any  shadow  about  them, 
whilst  the  whole  surface  of  the  scene  was  dimpled  with 
small  conical  pits,  and  here  and  there  were  round  ponds, 
now  dry,  and  half  overgrown  with  rushes. 

The  last  bell  of  the  steamer  rang.  Cytherea  had 
forgotten  herself,  and  what  she  was  looking  for.  In  a 
fever  of  distress  lest  Owen  should  be  left  behind,  she 
gathered  up  in  her  hand  the  corners  of  her  handker- 
chief, containing  specimens  of  the  shells,  plants,  and 
fossils  which  the  locality  produced,  started  off  to  the 
sands,  and  mingled  with  the  knots  of  visitors  there  con- 
gregated from  other  interesting  points  around;  from 
the  inn,  the  cottages,  and  hired  conveyances  that  had 
returned  from  short  drives  inland.  They  all  went 
aboard  by  the  primitive  plan  of  a  narrow  plank  on  two 
wheels — the  women  being  assisted  by  a  rope.  Cytherea 
lingered  till  the  very  last,  reluctant  to  follow,  and  look- 
ing alternately  at  the  boat  and  the  valley  behind.  Her 
delay  provoked  a  remark  from  Captain  Jacobs,  a  thick- 
set man  of  hybrid  stains,  resulting  from  the  mixed  effects 
of  fire  and  water,  peculiar  to  sailors  where  engines  are 
the  propelling  power. 

'  Now  then,  missy,  if  you  please.  I  am  sorry  to  teU 
'ee  our  time's  up.     Who  are  you  looking  for,  miss  ? ' 

'  My  brother — he  has  walked  a  short  distance  inland ; 
he  must  be  here  directly.  Could  you  wait  for  him^ 
just  a  minute? ' 

'  Really,  I  am  afraid  not,  ni'm.'  Cytherea  looked  at 
the  stout,  round-faced  man,  and  at  the  vessel,  with  a 
light  in  her  eyes  so  expressive  of  her  own  opinion  being 

29 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  same,  on  reflection,  as  his,  and  with  such  resignation, 
too,  that,  from  an  instinctive  feeling  of  pride  at  being 
able  to  prove  himself  more  humane  than  he  was  thought 
to  be — works  of  supererogation  are  the  only  sacrifices 
that  entice  in  this  way — and  that  at  a  very  small  cost, 
he  delayed  the  boat  till  some  among  the  passengers 
began  to  murmur. 

'  There,  never  mind,'  said  Cytherea  decisively.  '  Go 
on  without  me — I  shall  wait  for  him.' 

'Well,  'tis  a  very  awkward  thing  to  leave  you  here 
all  alone,'  said  the  captain.  '  I  certainly  advise  you  not 
to  wait.' 

'  He's  gone  across  to  the  railway  station,  for  certain,' 
said  another  passenger. 

'  No — here  he  is  ! '  Cytherea  said,  regarding,  as  she 
spoke,  the  half-hidden  figure  of  a  man  who  was  seen 
advancing  at  a  headlong  pace  down  the  ravine  which 
lay  between  the  heath  and  the  shore. 

*  He  can't  get  here  in  less  than  five  minutes,'  a 
passenger  said.  '  People  should  know  what  they  are 
about,  and  keep  time.     Really,  if ' 

'  You  see,  sir,'  said  the  captain,  in  an  apologetic 
undertone,  'since  'tis  her  brother,  and  she's  all  alone, 
'tis  only  nater  to  wait  a  minute,  now  he's  in  sight. 
Suppose,  now,  you  were  a  young  woman,  as  might  be, 
and  had  a  brother,  like  this  one,  and  you  stood  of  an 
.evening  upon  this  here  wild  lonely  shore,  like  her,  why 
you'd  want  us  to  wait,  too,  wouldn't  you,  sir  ?  I  think 
you  would.' 

The  person  so  hastily  approaching  had  been  lost  to 
view  during  this  remark  by  reason  of  a  hollow  in  the 
ground,  and  the  projecting  cliff  immediately  at  hand 
covered  the  path  in  its  rise.  His  footsteps  were  now 
heard  striking  sharply  upon  the  flinty  road  at  a  distance 
of  about  twenty  or  thirty  yards,  but  still  behind  the 
escarpment.  To  save  time,  Cytherea  prepared  to  ascend 
the  plank. 

30 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Let  me  give  you  my  hand,  miss,'  said  Captain 
Jacobs. 

'  No — please  don't  touch  me,'  said  she,  ascending 
cautiously  by  sliding  one  foot  forward  two  or  three 
inches,  bringing  up  the  other  behind  it,  and  so  on  alter- 
nately— her  lips  compressed  by  concentration  on  the 
feat,  her  eyes  glued  to  the  plank,  her  hand  to  the  rope, 
and  her  immediate  thought  to  the  fact  of  the  distressing 
narrowness  of  her  footing.  Steps  now  shook  the  lower 
end  of  the  board,  and  in  an  instant  were  up  to  her  heels 
with  a  bound. 

'  O,  Owen,  I  am  so  glad  you  are  come ! '  she  said, 
without  turning.  *  Don't,  don't  shake  the  plank  or  touch 
me,  whatever  you  do.  .  .  .  There,  I  am  up.  Where  have 
you  been  so  long  ? '  she  continued,  in  a  lower  tone, 
turning  round  to  him  as  she  reached  the  top. 

Raising  her  eyes  from  her  feet,  which,  standing  on 
the  firm  deck,  demanded  her  attention  no  longer,  she 
acquired  perceptions  of  the  new-comer  in  the  follow- 
ing order  :  unknown  trousers ;  unknown  waistcoat ;  un- 
known face.  The  man  was  not  her  brother,  but  a  total 
stranger. 

Off  went  the  plank;  the  paddles  started,  stopped, 
backed,  pattered  in  confusion,  then  revolved  decisively, 
and  the  boat  passed  out  into  deep  water. 

One  or  two  persons  had  said,  '  How  d'ye  do,  Mr. 
Springrove  ? '  and  looked  at  Cytherea,  to  see  how  she 
bore  her  disappointment.  Her  ears  had  but  just  caught 
the  name  of  the  head  draughtsman,  when  she  saw  him 
advancing  directly  to  address  her. 

'  Miss  Graye,  I  believe  ? '  he  said,  lifting  his  hat. 

'  Yes,'  said  Cytherea,  colouring,  and  trying  not  to 
look  guilty  of  a  surreptitious  knowledge  of  him. 

'  I  am  Mr.  Springrove.  I  passed  Corvsgate  Castle 
about  an  hour  ago,  and  soon  afterwards  met  your  brother 
going  that  way.  He  had  been  deceived  in  the  distance, 
and    was    about   to   turn   without   seeing  the  ruin,   on 

3^ 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

account  of  a  lameness  that  had  come  on  in  his  leg  or 
foot.  I  proposed  that  he  should  go  oil,  since  he  had 
got  so  near;  and  afterwards,  instead  of  walking  back 
to  the  boat,  get  across  to  Anglebury  Station — a  shorter 
walk  for  him — where  he  could  catch  the  late  train,  and 
go  directly  home.  I  could  let  you  know  what  he  had 
done,  and  allay  any  uneasiness.' 

'  Is  the  lameness  serious,  do  you  know  ? ' 

*  O  no ;  simply  from  over-walking  himself.  Still,  it 
was  just  as  well  to  ride  home.' 

Relieved  from  her  apprehensions  on  Owen's  score, 
she  was  able  slightly  to  examine  the  appearance  of  her 
informant — Edward  Springrove — who  now  removed  his 
hat  for  a  while,  to  cool  himself.  He  was  rather  above 
her  brother's  height.  Although  the  upper  part  of  his 
face  and  head  was  handsomely  formed,  and  bounded  by 
lines  of  sufficiently  masculine  regularity,  his  brows  were 
somewhat  too  softly  arched,  and  finely  pencilled  for  one 
of  his  sex;  without  prejudice,  however,  to  the  belief 
which  the  sum  total  of  his  features  inspired — that  though 
they  did  not  prove  that  the  man  who  thought  inside 
them  would  do  much  in  the  world,  men  who  had  done 
most  of  all  had  had  no  better  ones.  Across  his  fore- 
head, otherwise  perfectly  smooth,  ran  one  thin  line,  the 
healthy  freshness  of  his  remaining  features  expressing 
that  it  had  come  there  prematurely. 

Though  some  years  short  of  the  age  at  which  the 
clear  spirit  bids  good-bye  to  the  last  infirmity  of  noble 
mind,  and  takes  to  house-hunting  and  investments,  he 
had  reached  the  period  in  a  young  man's  life  when 
episodic  periods,  with  a  hopeful  birth  and  a  disappoint- 
ing death,  have  begun  to  accumulate,  and  to  bear  a  fruit 
of  generalities ;  his  glance  sometimes  seeming  to  state, 
'  I  have  already  thought  out  the  issue  of  such  conditions 
as  these  we  are  experiencing.'  At  other  times  he  wore 
an  abstracted  look  :  '  I  seem  to  have  lived  through  this 
moment  before.' 

32 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

He  was  carelessly  dressed  in  dark  grey,  wearing  a 
rolled-up  black  kerchief  as  a  neck-cloth ;  the  knot  of 
which  was  disarranged,  and  stood  obliquely — a  deposit 
of  white  dust  having  lodged  in  the  creases. 

'  I  am  sorry  for  your  disappointment,'  he  continued, 
glancing  into  her  face.  Their  eyes  having  met,  became, 
as  it  were,  mutually  locked  together,  and  the  single  in- 
stant only  which  good  breeding  allows  as  the  length  of 
such  a  look,  became  trebled :  a  clear  penetrating  ray  of 
intelligence  had  shot  from  each  into  each,  giving  birth 
to  one  of  those  unaccountable  sensations  which  carry 
home  to  the  heart  before  the  hand  has  been  touched 
or  the  merest  compliment  passed,  by  something  stronger 
than  mathematical  proof,  the  conviction,  '  A  tie  has 
begun  to  unite  us.' 

Both  faces  also  unconsciously  stated  that  their 
owners  had  been  much  in  each  other's  thoughts  of  late. 
Owen  had  talked  to  the  young  architect  of  his  sister  as 
freely  as  to  Cytherea  of  the  young  architect. 

A  conversation  began,  which  was  none  the  less 
interesting  to  the  parties  engaged  because  it  consisted 
only  of  the  most  trivial  and  commonplace  remarks. 
Then  the  band  of  harps  and  violins  struck  up  a  lively 
melody,  and  the  deck  was  cleared  for  dancing ;  the  sun 
dipping  beneath  the  horizon  during  the  proceeding,  and 
the  moon  showing  herself  at  their  stern.  The  sea  was 
so  calm,  that  the  soft  hiss  produced  by  the  bursting  of 
the  innumerable  bubbles  of  foam  behind  the  paddles 
could  be  distinctly  heard.  The  passengers  who  did 
not  dance,  including  Cytherea  and  Springrove,  lapsed 
into  silence,  leaning  against  the  paddle-boxes,  or  standing 
aloof — noticing  the  trembling  of  the  deck  to  the  steps  of 
the  dance — watching  the  waves  from  the  paddles  as  they 
slid  thinly  and  easily  under  each  other's  edges. 

Night  had  quite  closed  in  by  the  time  they  reached 
Budmouth  harbour,  sparkling  with  its  white,  red,  and 
green  lights  in  opposition   to   the   shimmering  path  of 

33  c 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  moon's  reflection  on  the  other  side,  which  reached 
away  to  the  horizon  till  the  flecked  ripples  reduced 
themselves  to  sparkles  as  fine  as  gold  dust. 

'  I  will  walk  to  the  station  and  find  out  the  exact 
time  the  train  arrives,'  said  Springrove,  rather  eagerly, 
when  they  had  landed. 

She  thanked  him  much, 

'  Perhaps  we  might  walk  together,'  he  suggested 
hesitatingly.  She  looked  as  if  she  did  not  quite  know, 
and  he  settled  the  question  by  showing  the  way. 

They  found,  on  arriving  there,  that  on  the  first  day 
of  that  month  the  particular  train  selected  for  Graye's 
return  had  ceased  to  stop  at  Anglebury  station. 

'  I  am  very  sorry  I  misled  him,'  said  Springrove. 

'  O,  I  am  not  alarmed  at  all,'  replied  Cytherea. 

'  Well,  it's  sure  to  be  all  right — he  will  sleep  there, 
and  come  by  the  first  in  the  morning.  But  what  will 
you  do,  alone  ?  ' 

'  I  am  quite  easy  on  that  point ;  the  landlady  is  very 
friendly.  I  must  go  indoors  now.  Good-night,  Mr. 
Springrove.' 

*  Let  me  go  round  to  your  door  with  you  ? '  he 
pleaded. 

'  No,  thank  you ;  we  live  close  by.' 

He  looked  at  her  as  a  waiter  looks  at  the  change  he 
brings  back.     But  she  was  inexorable. 

'  Don't — forget  me,'  he  murmured.  She  did  not 
answer. 

'  Let  me  see  you  sometimes,'  he  said. 

'  Perhaps  you  never  will  again — I  am  going  away,' 
she  replied  in  Hngering  tones ;  and  turning  into  Cross 
Street,  ran  indoors  and  upstairs. 

The  sudden  withdrawal  of  what  was  superfluous  at 
first,  is  often  felt  as  an  essential  loss.  It  was  felt 
now  with  regard  to  the  maiden.  More,  too,  after  a 
meeting  so  pleasant  and  so  enkindling,  she  had  seemed 
to  imply  that  they  would   never  come   together  again. 

34 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

The  young  man  softly  followed  her,  stood  opposite  the 
house  and  watched  her  come  into  the  upper  room  with 
the  light.  Presently  his  gaze  was  cut  short  by  her 
approaching  the  window  and  puUing  down  the  blind — ^ 
Edward  dwelling  upon  her  vanishing  figure  with  a  hope- 
less sense  of  loss  akin  to  that  which  Adam  is  said  by 
logicians  to  have  felt  when  he  first  saw  the  sun  set,  and 
thought,  in  his  inexperience,  that  it  would  return  no 
more. 

He  waited  till  her  shadow  had  twice  crossed  the 
window,  when,  finding  the  charming  outline  was  not  to 
be  expected  again,  he  left  the  street,  crossed  the  harbour- 
bridge,  and  entered  his  own  solitary  chamber  on  the 
other  side,  vaguely  thinking  as  he  went  (for  undefind 
reasons), 

'One  hope  is  too  like  despair 
For  prudence  to  smother.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


III 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

EIGHT  DA  YS 

1.   From  the  Twenty-Second  to  the 
Twenty-Seventh  of  July 

JjUT  things  are  not  what  they  seem.  A  responsive 
love  for  Edward  Springrove  had  made  its  appearance  in 
Cytherea's  bosom  with  all  the  fascinating  attributes  of 
a  first  experience,  not  succeeding  to  or  displacing  other 
emotions,  as  in  older  hearts,  but  taking  up  entirely  new 
ground ;  as  when  gazing  just  after  sunset  at  the  pale 
blue  sky  we  see  a  star  come  into  existence  where  nothing 
was  before. 

His  parting  words,  *  Don't  forget  me,'  she  repeated 
to  herself  a  hundred  times,  and  though  she  thought  their 
import  was  probably  commonplace,  she  could  not  help 
toying  with  them, — looking  at  them  from  all  points,  and 
investing  them  with  meanings  of  love  and  faithfulness, — 
ostensibly  entertaining  such  meanings  only  as  fables 
wherewith  to  pass  the  time,  yet  in  her  heart  admitting, 
for  detached  instants,  a  possibility  of  their  deeper  truth. 
And  thus,  for  hours  after  he  had  left  her,  her  reason 
flirted  with  her  fancy  as  a  kitten  will  sport  with  a  dove, 
pleasantly  and  smoothly  through  easy  attitudes,  but 
disclosing  its  cruel  and  unyielding  nature  at  crises. 

36 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

To  turn  now  to  the  more  material  media  through 
which  this  story  moves,  it  so  happened  that  the  very 
next  morning  brought  round  a  circumstance  which,  slight 
in  itself,  took  up  a  relevant  and  important  position 
between  the  past  and  the  future  of  the  persons  herein 
concerned. 

At  breakfast  time,  just  as  Cytherea  had  again  seen 
the  postman  pass  without  bringing  her  an  answer  to  the 
advertisement,  as  she  had  fully  expected  he  would  do, 
Owen  entered  the  room. 

'  Well,'  he  said,  kissing  her,  '  you  have  not  been 
alarmed,  of  course.  Springrove  told  you  what  I  had 
done,  and  you  found  there  was  no  train  ? ' 

'  Yes,  it  was  all  clear.  But  what  is  the  lameness 
owing  to  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know — nothing.  It  has  quite  gone  off  now. 
.  .  .  Cytherea,  I  hope  you  like  Springrove.  Springrove's 
a  nice  fellow,  you  know.' 

'  Yes.     I  think  he  is,  except  that ' 

'  It  happened  just  to  the  purpose  that  I  should  meet 
him  there,  didn't  it  ?  And  when  I  reached  the  station 
and  learnt  that  I  could  not  get  on  by  train  my  foot 
seemed  better.  I  started  off  to  walk  home,  and  went 
about  five  miles  along  a  path  beside  the  railway.  It 
then  struck  me  that  I  might  not  be  fit  for  anything  to- 
day if  I  walked  and  aggravated  the  bothering  foot,  so  I 
looked  for  a  place  to  sleep  at.  There  was  no  available 
village  or  inn,  and  I  eventually  got  the  keeper  of  a  gate- 
house, where  a  lane  crossed  the  line,  to  take  me  in.' 

They  proceeded  with  their  breakfast.     Owen  yawned. 

'  You  didn't  get  much  sleep  at  the  gate-house  last 
night,  I'm  afraid,  Owen,'  said  his  sister. 

'  To  tell  the  truth,  I  didn't.  I  was  in  such  very 
close  and  narrow  quarters.  Those  gate -houses  are 
such  small  places,  and  the  man  had  only  his  own  bed 
to  offer  me.  Ah,  by-the-bye,  Cythie,  I  have  such  an 
extraordinary  thing  to  tell  you  in  connection  with  this 

°  37 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

man ! — by  Jove,  I  had  nearly  forgotten  it !     But  I'll 
go  straight  on.     As  I  was  saying,  he  had  only  his  own 
bed  to  offer  me,  but  I  could  not  afford  to  be  fastidious, 
and  as  he  had  a  hearty  manner,  though  a  very  queer 
one,  I  agreed  to  accept  it,  and  he  made  a  rough  pallet 
for  himself  on  the  floor  close  beside  me.     Well,  I  could 
not  sleep  for  my  life,  and  I  wished  I  had   not  stayed 
there,  though  I  was  so  tired.     For  one  thing,  there  were 
the  luggage   trains  rattling  by  at   my  elbow   the  early 
part  of  the  night.     But  worse  than  this,  he  talked  con- 
tinually in  his  sleep,  and  occasionally  struck  out  with 
his  limbs  at  something  or  another,  knocking  against  the 
post  of  the  bedstead  and  making  it  tremble.     My  con- 
dition  was   altogether   so  unsatisfactory  that  at   last   I 
awoke  him,  and  asked  him  what  he  had  been  dreaming 
about  for  the  previous  hour,  for  I  could  get  no  sle^ 
at  all.     He  begged  my  pardon  for  disturbing  me,  but 
a  name  I  had  casually  let  fall  that  evening  had  led  him 
to  think  of  another  stranger  he  had  once  had  visit  him, 
who  had  also  accidentally  mentioned  the  same  name,  and 
some  very  strange  incidents  connected  with  that  meeting. 
The  affair  had  occurred  years  and  years  ago ;  but  what 
I  had  said  had  made  him  think  and  dream  about  it 
as  if  it  were  but  yesterday.      What  was  the  word  ?  I 
said.     "Cytherea,"  he  said.     What  was    the   story?   I 
asked  then.     He  then   told   me   that   when   he   was    a 
young  man  in  London  he  borrowed  a  few  pounds  to 
add  to  a  few  he  had  saved  up,  and  opened  a  little  inn 
at  Hammersmith.     One  evening,  after  the  inn  had  been 
open  about  a  couple  of  months,  every  idler  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood   ran   off  to   Westminster.      The    Houses    of 
Parliament  were  on  fire. 

'  Not  a  soul  remained  in  his  parlour  besides  himself, 
and  he  began  picking  up  the  pipes  and  glasses  his 
customers  had  hastily  relinquished.  At  length  a  young 
lady  about  seventeen  or  eighteen  came  in.  She  asked 
if  a   woman  was   there  waiting  for  herself — Miss  Jane 

38 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Taylor.  He  said  no ;  asked  the  young  lady  if  she 
would  wait,  and  showed  her  into  the  small  inner  room. 
There  was  a  glass-pane  in  the  partition  dividing  this 
room  from  the  bar  to  enable  the  landlord  to  see  if 
his  visitors,  who  sat  there,  wanted  anything.  A  curi- 
ous awkwardness  and  melancholy  about  the  behaviour 
of  the  girl  who  called,  caused  my  informant  to  look 
frequently  at  her  through  the  partition.  She  seemed 
weary  of  her  life,  and  sat  with  her  face  buried  in  her 
hands,  evidently  quite  out  of  her  element  in  such  a 
house.  Then  a  woman  much  older  came  in  and  greeted 
Miss  Taylor  by  name.  The  man  distinctly  heard  the 
following  words  pass  between  them : — 

< «« Why  have  you  not  brought  him  ?  " 

'  '<  He  is  ill ;  he  is  not  likely  to  live  through  the 
night." 

'  At  this  announcement  from  the  elderly  woman,  the 
young  lady  fell  to  the  floor  in  a  swoon,  apparently 
overcome  by  the  news.  The  landlord  ran  in  and  lifted 
her  up.  Well,  do  what  they  would  they  could  not  for 
a  long  time  bring  her  back  to  consciousness,  and  began 
to  be  much  alarmed.  "  Who  is  she  ?  "  the  innkeeper 
said  to  the  other  woman.  "  I  know  her,"  the  other 
said,  with  deep  meaning  in  her  tone.  The  elderly  and 
young  woman  seemed  allied,  and  yet  strangers. 

'  She  now  showed  signs  of  life,  and  it  struck  him  (he 
was  plainly  of  an  inquisitive  turn),  that  in  her  half- 
bewildered  state  he  might  get  some  information  from 
her.  He  stooped  over  her,  put  his  mouth  to  her  ear, 
and  said  sharply,  "  What's  your  name  ?  "  "  To  catch  a 
woman  napping  is  difficult,  even  when  she's  half  dead ; 
but  I  did  it,"  says  the  gatekeeper.  When  he  asked  her 
her  name,  she  said  immediately — 

*  "  Cytherea  " — and  stopped  suddenly.* 

'  My  own  name ! '  said  Cytherea. 

<  Yes — your  name.  Well,  the  gateman  thought  at 
the  time  it  might  be  equally  with  Jane  a  name  she  had 

39 


\ 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

invented  for  the  occasion,  that  they  might  not  trace 
her ;  but  I  think  it  was  truth  unconsciously  uttered, 
for  she  added  directly  afterwards :  "  O,  what  have  I 
said !  "  and  was  quite  overcome  again — this  time  with 
fright.  Her  vexation  that  the  woman  now  doubted  the 
genuineness  of  her  other  name  was  very  much  greater 
than  that  the  innkeeper  did,  and  it  is  evident  that  to 
blind  the  woman  was  her  main  object.  He  also  learnt 
from  words  the  elderly  woman  casually  dropped,  that 
meetings  of  the  same  kind  had  been  held  before,  and  that 
the  falseness  of  the  soi-disant  Miss  Jane  Taylor's  name 
had  never  been  suspected  by  this  dependent  or  confede- 
rate till  then. 

'  She  recovered,  rested  there  for  an  hour,  and  first 
sending  off  her  companion  peremptorily  (which  was 
another  odd  thing),  she  left  the  house,  offering  the 
landlord  all  the  money  she  had  to  say  nothing  about 
the  circumstance.  He  has  never  seen  her  since,  ac- 
cording to  his  own  account.  I  said  to  him  again  and 
again,  "  Did  you  find  any  more  particulars  afterwards  ?  " 
"  Not  a  syllable,"  he  said.  O,  he  should  never  hear 
any  more  of  that !  too  many  years  had  passed  since  it 
happened.  "  At  any  rate,  you  found  out  her  sur- 
name ? "  I  said.  "  Well,  well,  that's  my  secret,"  he 
went  on.  "  Perhaps  I  should  never  have  been  in  this 
part  of  the  world  if  it  hadn't  been  for  that.  I  failed 
as  a  publican,  you  know."  I  imagine  the  situation  of 
gateman  was  given  him  and  his  debts  paid  off  as  a 
bribe  to  silence ;  but  I  can't  say.  "  Ah,  yes  !  "  he  said, 
with  a  long  breath.  "  I  have  never  heard  that  name 
mentioned  since  that  time  till  to-night,  and  then  there 
instantly  rose  to  my  eyes  the  vision  of  that  young  lady 
lying  in  a  fainting  fit."  He  then  stopped  talking  and 
fell  asleep.  Telling  the  story  must  have  relieved  him 
as  it  did  the  Ancient  Mariner,  for  he  did  not  move  a 
muscle  or  make  another  sound  for  the  remainder  of  the 
night.      Now  isn't  that  an  odd  story  ?  V 

40 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•It  id;  indeed,'  Cytherea  murmured.  'Very,  very 
strange.' 

'Why  should  she  have  said  your  most  uncommon 
name?'  continued  Owen.  'The  man  was  evidently 
truthful,  for  there  was  not  motive  sufficient  for  his 
invention  of  such  a  tale,  and  he  could  not  have  done 
it  either.' 

Cytherea  looked  long  at  her  brother.  '  Don't  you 
recognize  anything  else  in  connection  with  the  story  ?  * 
she  said. 

'  What  ?  '  he  asked. 

'  Do  you  remember  what  poor  papa  once  let  drop — 
that  Cytherea  was  the  name  of  his  first  sweetheart  in 
Bloomsbury,  who  so  mysteriously  renounced  him  ?  A 
sort  of  intuition  tells  me  that  this  was  the  same  woman.' 

<  O  no — not  Ukely,'  said  her  brother  sceptically. 

'  How  not  likely,  Owen  ?  There's  not  another  woman 
of  the  name  in  England.  In  what  year  used  papa  to 
say  the  event  took  place  ? ' 

'  Eighteen  hundred  and  thirty-five.' 

'  And  when  were  the  Houses  of  Parliament  burnt  ? — 
stop,  I  can  tell  you.  She  searched  their  little  stock  of 
books  for  a  list  of  dates,  and  found  one  in  an  old  school 
history. 

'  The  Houses  of  Parliament  were  burnt  down  in  the 
evening  of  the  sixteenth  of  October,  eighteen  hundred 
and  thirty-four.' 

'  Nearly  a  year  and  a  quarter  before  she  met  father,' 
remarked  Owen. 

They  were  silent.  '  If  papa  had  been  alivsi  what  a 
wonderful  absorbing  interest  this  story  would  have  had 
for  him,'  said  Cytherea  by-and-by.  '  And  how  strangely 
knowledge  comes  to  us.  We  might  have  searched  for  a 
clue  to  her  secret  half  the  world  over,  and  never  found 
one.  If  we  had  really  had  any  mptive  for  trying  to 
discover  more  of  the  sad  history  than  papa  told  us,  we 
should  have  gone  to  Bloomsbury ;  but  not  caring  to  do 
41 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

SO,  we  go  two  hundred  miles  in  the  opposite  direction, 
and  there  find  information  waiting  to  be  told  us.  What 
could  have  been  the  secret,  Owen  ? ' 

'  Heaven  knows.  But  our  having  heard  a  little  more 
of  her  in  this  way  (if  she  is  the  same  woman)  is  a  mere 
coincidence  after  all — a  family  story  to  tell  our  friends  if 
we  ever  have  any.  But  we  shall  never  know  any  more 
of  the  episode  now — trust  our  fates  for  that.' 

Cytherea  sat  silently  thinking. 

'  There  was  no  answer  this  morning  to  your  adver- 
tisement, Cytherea  ?  '  he  continued. 

'  None.' 

'  I  could  see  that  by  your  looks  when  I  came  in.' 

'  Fancy  not  getting  a  single  one,'  she  said  sadly. 
'  Surely  there  must  be  people  somewhere  who  want 
governesses  ? ' 

'  Yes  ;  but  those  who  want  them,  and  can  afford  to 
have  them,  get  them  mostly  by  friends'  recommenda- 
tions ;  whilst  those  who  want  them,  and  can't  afford  to 
have  them,  make  use  of  their  poor  relations.' 

'  What  shall  I  do  ? ' 

'  Never  mind  it.  Go  on  living  with  me.  Don't  let 
the  difficulty  trouble  your  mind  so ;  you  think  about  it 
all  day.  I  can  keep  you,  Cythie,  in  a  plain  way  of 
living.  Twenty-five  shillings  a  week  do  not  amount  to 
much  truly ;  but  then  many  mechanics  have  no  more, 
and  we  live  quite  as  sparingly  as  journeymen  mechanics. 
.  .  .  It  is  a  meagre  narrow  life  we  are  drifting  into,'  he 
added  gloomily,  '  but  it  is  a  degree  more  tolerable  than 
the  worrying  sensation  of  all  the  world  being  ashamed 
of  you,  which  we  experienced  at  Hocbridge.' 

'  I  couldn't  go  back  there  again,'  she  said. 

'  Nor  I.  O,  I  don't  regret  our  course  for  a  moment. 
We  did  quite  right  in  dropping  out  of  the  world.'  The 
sneering  tones  of  the  remark  were  almost  too  Laboured 
to  be  real.  '  Besides,'  he  continued,  '  something  better 
for  me   is  sure  to   turn  up  soon.     I  wish  my  engage- 

42 


y^ 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


ment  here  was  a  permanent  one  instead  of  for  only  two 
months.  It  may,  certainly,  be  for  a  longer  time,  but  all 
is  uncertain.' 

'  I  wish  I  could  get  something  to  do ;  and  I  must 
too,'  she  said  firmly.  '  Suppose,  as  is  very  probable,  you 
are  not  wanted  after  the  beginning  of  October — the  time 
Mr.  Gradfield  mentioned — what  should  we  do  if  I  were 
dependent  on  you  only  throughout  the  winter  ? ' 

They  pondered  on  numerous  schemes  by  which  a 
young  lady  might  be  supposed  to  earn  a  decent  liveli- 
hood—more or  less  convenient  and  feasible  in  imagina- 
tion, but  relinquished  them  all  until  advertising  had 
been  once  more  tried,  this  time  taking  lower  ground. 
Cytherea  was  vexed  at  her  temerity  in  having  represented 
to  the  world  that  so  inexperienced  a  being  as  herself 
was  a  qualified  governess ;  and  had  a  fancy  that  this 
presumption  of  hers  might  be  one  reason  why  no  ladies 
applied.  The  new  and  humbler  attempt  appeared  in 
the  following  form  : — 

'Nursery  Governess  or  Useful  Companion.  A  young 
person  wishes  to  hear  of  a  situation  in  either  of  the  above  capacities. 
Salary  very  moderate.  She  is  a  good  needle- woman. — Address  G., 
3  Cross  Street,  Budmouth. ' 

In  the  evening  they  went  to  post  the  letter,  and  then 
walked  up  and  down  the  Parade  for  a  while.  Soon  they 
met  Springrove,  said  a  few  words  to  him,  and  passed  on. 
Owen  noticed  that  his  sister's  face  had  become  crimson. 
Rather  oddly  they  met  Springrove  again  in  a  few  minutes. 

This  time  the  three  walked  a  little  way  together, 
Edward  ostensibly  talking  to  Owen,  though  with  a 
single  thought  to  the  reception  of  his  words  by  the 
maiden  at  the  farther  side,  upon  whom  his  gaze  was 
mostly  resting,  and  who  was  attentively  listening — look- 
.  ing  fixedly  upon  the  pavement  the  while.  It  has  been 
said  that  men  love  with  their  eyes  ;  women  with  their  ears. 

As  Owen  and  himself  were  little  more  than  acquain- 
43 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

tances  as  yet,  and  as  Springrove  was  wanting  in  the 
assurance  of  many  men  of  his  age,  it  now  became 
necessary  to  wish  his  friends  good-evening,  or  to  find 
a  reason  for  continuing  near  Cytherea  by  saying  some 
nice  new  thing.  He  thought  of  a  new  thing ;  he  pro- 
posed a  pull  across  the  bay.  This  was  assented  to. 
They  went  to  the  pier ;  stepped  into  one  of  the  gaily 
painted  boats  moored  alongside  and  sheered  off. 
Cytherea  sat  in  the  stern  steering. 

They  rowed  that  evening ;  the  next  came,  and  with  it 
the  necessity  of  rowing  again.  Then  the  next,  and  the 
next,  Cytherea  always  sitting  in  the  stern  with  the  tiller 
ropes  in  her  hand.  The  curves  of  her  figure  welded 
with  those  of  the  fragile  boat  in  perfect  continuation,  as 
she  girlishly  yielded  herself  to  its  heaving  and  sinking, 
seeming  to  form  with  it  an  organic  whole. 

Then  Owen  was  inclined  to  test  his  skill  in  paddling 
a  canoe.  Edward  did  not  like  canoes,  and  the  issue 
was,  that,  having  seen  Owen  on  board,  Springrove  pro- 
posed to  pull  off  after  him  with  a  pair  of  sculls ;  but 
not  considering  himself  sufficiently  accomplished  to  do 
finished  rowing  before  a  parade  full  of  promenaders 
when  there  was  a  Uttle  swell  on,  and  with  the  rudder 
unshipped  in  addition,  he  begged  that  Cytherea  might 
come  with  him  and  steer  as  before.  She  stepped  in, 
and  they  floated  along  in  the  wake  of  her  brother.  Thus 
passed  the  fifth  evening  on  the  water. 

But  the  sympathetic  pair  were  thrown  into  still  closer 
companionship,  and  much  more  exclusive  connection. 


2.  July  the  Twenty-Ninth 

It  was  a  sad  time  for  Cytherea — the  last  day  of 
Springrove's  management  at  Gradfield's,  and  the  last 
evening  before  his  return  from  Budmouth  to  his  father's 
house,  previous  to  his  departure  for  London. 

44 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Graye  had  been  requested  by  the  architect  to  survey 
a  plot  of  land  nearly  twenty  miles  off,  which,  with  the 
journey  to  and  fro,  would  occu'py  him  the  whole  day, 
and  prevent  his  returnfng  till  late  in  the  evening. 
Cytherea  made  a  companion  of  her  landlady  to  the 
extent  of  sharing  meals  and  sitting  with  her  during  the 
morning  of  her  brother's  absence.  Mid-day  found  her 
restless  and  miserable  under  this  arrangement.  All  the 
afternoon  she  sat  alone,  looking  out  of  the  window  for 
she  scarcely  knew  whom,  and  hoping  she  scarcely 
knew  what.  Half-past  five  o'clock  came — the  end  of 
Springrove's  official  day.  Two  minutes  later  Springrove 
walked  by. 

She  endured  her  solitude  for  another  half-hour,  and 
then  could  endure  no  longer.  She  had  hoped — while 
affecting  to  fear — that  Edward  would  have  found  some 
reason  or  other  for  calling,  but  it  seemed  that  he  had 
not.  Hastily  dressing  herself  she  went  out,  when  the 
farce  of  an  accidental  meeting  was  repeated.  Edward 
came  upon  her  in  the  street  at  the  first  turning,  and, 
like  the  Great  Duke  Ferdinand  in  *  The  Statue  and 
the  Bust ' — 

'  He  looked  at  her  as  a  lover  can  ; 
She  looked  at  him  as  one  who  awakes — 
The  past  was  a  sleep,  and  her  life  began.' 

'  Shall  we  have  a  boat  ?  '  he  said  impulsively. 

How  blissful  it  all  is  at  first.  Perhaps,  indeed,  the 
only  bliss  in  the  course  of  love  which  can  truly  be  called 
Eden-like  is  that  which  prevails  immediately  after  doubt 
has  ended  and  before  reflection  has  set  in — at  the  dawn 
of  the  emotion,  when  it  is  not  recognized  by  name,  and 
before  the  consideration  of  what  this  love  is,  has  given 
birth  to  the  consideration  of  what  difficulties  it  tends  to 
create ;  when  on  the  man's  part,  the  mistress  appears  to 
the  mind's  eye  in  picturesque,  hazy,  and  fresh  morning 
lights,  and  soft  morning  shadows ;  when,  as  yet,  she  is 

45 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

known  only  as  the  wearer  of  one  dress,  which  shares  her 
own  personality;  as  the  stander  in  one  special  position, 
the  giver  of  one  bright  particular  glance,  and  the 
speaker  of  one  tender  sentence ;  when,  on  her  part,  she 
is  timidly  careful  over  what  she  says  and  does,  lest  she 
should  be  misconstrued  or  under-rated  to  the  breadth  of 
a  shadow  of  a  hair. 

'Shall  we  have  a  boat?'  he  said  again,  more  softly, 
seeing  that  to  his  first  question  she  had  not  answered, 
but  looked  uncertainly  at  the  ground,  then  almost,  but 
not  quite,  in  his  face,  blushed  a  series  of  minute  blushes, 
left  off  in  the  midst  of  them,  and  showed  the  usual  signs 
of  perplexity  in  a  matter  of  the  emotions. 

Owen  had  always  been  with  her  before,  but  there 
was  now  a  force  of  habit  in  the  proceeding,  and  with 
Arcadian  innocence  she  assumed  that  a  row  on  the 
water  was,  under  any  circumstances,  a  natural  thing. 
Without  another  word  being  spoken  on  either  side, 
they  went  down  the  steps.  He  carefully  handed  her 
in,  took  his  seat,  sUd  noiselessly  off  the  sand,  and  away 
from  the  shore. 

They  thus  sat  facing  each  other  in  the  graceful 
yellow  cockle-shell,  and  his  eyes  frequently  found  a 
resting-place  in  the  depths  of  hers.  The  boat  was  so 
small  that  at  each  return  of  the  sculls,  when  his  hands 
came  forward  to  begin  the  pull,  they  approached  so 
near  to  her  that  her  vivid  imagination  began  to  thrill 
her  with  a  fancy  that  he  was  going  to  clasp  his  arms 
round  her.  The  sensation  grew  so  strong  that  she 
could  not  run  the  risk  of  again  meeting  his  eyes  at 
those  critical  moments,  and  turned  aside  to  inspect 
the  distant  horizon;  then  she  grew  weary  of  looking 
sideways,  and  was  driven  to  return  to  her  natural 
position  again.  At  this  instant  he  again  leant  forward  to 
begin,  and  met  her  glance  by  an  ardent  fixed  gaze.  An 
involuntary  impulse  of  girlish  embarrassment  caused 
her  to  give  a  vehement  pull   at  the  tiller-rope,  which 

46 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

brought  the  boat's  head  round  till  they  stood  directly 
for  shore. 

His  eyes,  which  had  dwelt  upon  her  form  during  the 
whole  time  of  her  look  askance,  now  left  her;  he  per- 
ceived the  direction  in  which  they  were  going. 

'  Why  you  have  completely  turned  the  boat,  Miss 
Graye  ?  '  he  said,  looking  over  his  shoulder.  '  Look  at 
our  track  on  the  water — a  great  semicircle,  preceded  by 
a  series  of  zigzags  as  far  as  we  can  see.' 

She  looked  attentively.  '  Is  it  my  fault  or  yours  ?  ' 
she  inquired.     '  Mine,  I  suppose  ?  ' 

'  I  can't  help  saying  that  it  is  yours.' 

She  dropped  the  ropes  decisively,  feeling  the  slightest 
twinge  of  vexation  at  the  answer, 

'  Why  do  you  let  go  ?  ' 

'  I  do  it  so  badly.' 

*  O  no ;  you  turned  about  for  shore  in  a  masterly 
way.     Do  you  wish  to  return  ? ' 

'  Yes,  if  you  please.' 

'  Of  course,  then,  I  will  at  once.' 

*  I  fear  what  the  people  will  think  of  us — going  in 
such  absurd  directions,  and  all  through  my  wretched 
steering.' 

'  Never  mind  what  the  people  think.'  A  pause. 
'You  surely  are  not  so  weak  as  to  mind  what  the 
people  think  on  such  a  matter  as  that  ? ' 

Those  words  might  almost  be  called  too  firm  and 
hard  to  be  given  by  him  to  her;  but  never  mind. 
For  almost  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  felt  the 
charming  sensation,  although  on  such  an  insignificant 
subject,  of  being  compelled  into  an  opinion  by  a  man 
she  loved.  Owen,  though  less  yielding  physically,  and 
more  practical,  would  not  have  had  the  intellectual 
independence  to  answer  a  woman  thus.  She  replied 
quietly  and  honestly — as  honestly  as  when  she  had 
stated  the  contrarj'  fact  a  minute  earlier — 

'  I  don't  mind.' 

47 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  I'll  unship  the  tiller  that  you  may  have  nothing  to 
do  going  back  but  to  hold  your  parasol, '  he  continued, 
and  arose  to  perform  the  operation,  necessarily  lean- 
ing closely  against  her,  to  guard  against  the  risk  of  cap- 
sizing the  boat  as  he  reached  his  hands  astern.  His 
warm  breath  touched  and  crept  round  her  face  like  a 
caress ;  but  he  was  apparently  only  concerned  \\'ith  his 
task.  She  looked  guilty  of  something  when  he  seated 
himself  He  read  in  her  face  what  that  something  was 
— she  had  experienced  a  pleasure  from  his  touch.  But 
he  flung  a  practical  glance  over  his  shoulder,  seized  the 
oars,  and  they  sped  in  a  straight  line  towards  the  shore. 

Cytherea  saw  that  he  noted  in  her  face  what  had 
passed  in  her  heart,  and  that  noting  it,  he  continued 
as  decided  as  before.  She  was  inwardly  distressed. 
She  had  not  meant  him  to  translate  her  words  about 
returning  home  so  literally  at  the  first ;  she  had  not 
intended  him  to  learn  her  secret ;  but  more  than  all 
she  was  not  able  to  endure  the  perception  of  his  learn- 
ing it  and  continuing  unmoved. 

There  was  nothing  but  misery  to  come  now.  They 
would  step  ashore;  he  would  say  good-night,  go  to 
London  to-morrow,  and  the  miserable  She  would  lose 
him  for  ever.  She  did  not  quite  suppose  what  was  the 
fact,  that  a  parallel  thought  was  simultaneously  passing 
through  his  mind. 

They  were  now  within  ten  yards,  now  within  five; 
he  was  only  now  waiting  for  a  '  smooth '  to  bring  the 
boat  in.  Sweet,  sweet  Love  must  not  be  slain  thus, 
was  the  fair  maid's  reasoning.  She  was  equal  to  the 
occasion — ladies  are — and  delivered  the  god — 

'  Do  you  want  very  much  to  land,  Mr.  Springrove  ? ' 
she  said,  letting  her  young  violet  eyes  pine  at  him  a 
very,  very  little. 

'  I  ?  Not  at  all,'  said  he,  looking  an  astonishment 
at  her  inquiry  which  a  slight  twinkle  of  his  eye  half 
belied.     '  But  you  do  ? ' 

48 


DESPERATE   KEMEDIES 

'  I  think  that  now  we  have  come  out,  and  it  is  such 
a  pleasant  evening,'  she  said  gently  and  sweetly,  •  I 
should  like  a  little  longer  row  if  you  don't  mind  ?  I'll 
try  to  steer  better  than  before  if  it  makes  it  easier  for 
you.     I'll  try  very  hard.' 

It  was  the  turn  of  his  face  to  tell  a  tale  now.  He 
looked,  'We  understand  each  other — ah,  we  do^ 
darling ! '  turned  the  boat,  and  pulled  back  into  the  Bay 
once  more. 

'Now  steer  wherever  you  will,'  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice.  '  Never  mind  the  directness  of  the  course — 
wherever  you  will.' 

'  Shall  it  be  Creston  Shore  ? '  she  said,  pointing  to 
a  stretch  of  beach  northward  from  Budmouth  Espla- 
nade. 

'Creston  Shore  certainly,'  he  responded,  grasping 
the  sculls.  She  took  the  strings  daintily,  and  they 
wound  away  to  the  left. 

For  a  long  time  nothing  was  audible  in  the  boat 
but  the  regular  dip  of  the  oars,  and  their  movement  in 
the  rowlocks.      Springrove  at  length  spoke. 

'  I  must  go  away  to-morrow,'  he  said  tentatively. 

'Yes,'  she  replied  faintly. 

'  To  endeavour  to  advance  a  little  in  my  profession 
in  London.' 

'Yes,'  she  said  again,  with  the  same  preoccupied 
softness. 

'  But  I  shan't  advance.' 

'  Why  not  ?  Architecture  is  a  bewitching  profession. 
They  say  that  an  architect's  work  is  another  man's 
play.' 

'Yes.  But  worldly  advantage  from  an  art  doesn't 
depend  upon  mastering  it.  I  used  to  think  it  did ;  but 
it  doesn't.  Those  who  get  rich  need  have  no  skill  at 
all  as  artists.' 

'  What  need  they  have  ? ' 

'  A  certain  kind  of  energy  which  men  with  any  fond- 
49  D 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

ness  for  art  possess  very  seldom  indeed — an  earnestness 
in  making  acquaintances,  and  a  love  for  using  them. 
They  give  their  whole  attention  to  the  art  of  dining  out, 
after  mastering  a  few  rudimentary  facts  to  serve  up  in 
conversation.  Now  after  saying  that,  do  I  seem  a  man 
hkely  to  make  a  name  ? ' 

'  You  seem  a  man  likely  to  make  a  mistake.' 

'  What's  that  ?  ' 

*  To  give  too  much  room  to  the  latent  feeling  which 
is  rather  common  in  these  days  among  the  unappreciated, 
that  because  some  remarkably  successful  men  are  fools, 
all  remarkably  unsuccessful  men  are  geniuses.' 

'  Pretty  subtle  for  a  young  lady,'  he  said  slowly. 
*  From  that  remark  I  should  fancy  you  had  bought 
experience.' 

She  passed  over  the  idea.  '  Do  try  to  succeed,' 
she  said,  with  wistful  thoughtfulness,  leaving  her  eyes 
on  him. 

Springrove  flushed  a  little  at  the  earnestness  of  her 
words,  and  mused.  '  Then,  like  Cato  the  Censor,  I 
shall  do  what  I  despise,  to  be  in  the  fashion,'  he  said 
at  last.  ...  *  Well,  when  I  found  all  this  out  that  I 
was  speaking  of,  what  ever  do  you  think  I  did  ?  From 
having  already  loved  verse  passionately,  I  went  on  to 
read  it  continually ;  then  I  went  rhyming  myself.  If 
anything  on  earth  ruins  a  man  for  useful  occupation, 
and  for  content  with  reasonable  success  in  a  profession 
or  trade,  it  is  the  habit  of  writing  verses  on  emotional 
subjects,  which  had  much  better  be  left  to  die  from 
want  of  nourishment.' 

'  Do  you  write  poems  now  ?  '  she  said. 

'  None.  Poetical  days  are  getting  past  with  me, 
according  to  the  usual  rule.  Writing  rhymes  is  a  stage 
people  of  my  sort  pass  through,  as  they  pass  through 
the  stage  of  shaving  for  a  beard,  or  thinking  they  are 
ill-used,  or  saying  there's  nothing  in  the  world  worth 
living  for.' 

50 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

•  Then  the  difference  between  a  common  man  and    j 
a  recognized  poet  is,  that  one  has  been  deluded,  and    '^ 
cured  of  his  delusion,  and  the  other  continues  deluded 

all  his  days.' 

'  Well,  there's  just  enough  truth  in  what  you  say,  to 
make  the  remark  unbearable.  However,  it  doesn't 
matter  to  me  now  that  I  "  meditate  the  thankless 
Muse "  no  longer,  but  .  .  .'  He  paused,  as  if  en- 
deavouring to  think  what  better  thing  he  did. 

Cytherea's  mind  ran  on  to  the  succeeding  lines  of 
the  poem,  and  their  startling  harmony  with  the  present 
situation  suggested  the  fancy  that  he  was  ''sporting'' 
with  her,  and  brought  an  awkward  contemplativeness 
to  her  face. 

Springrove  guessed  her  thoughts,  and  in  answer  to 
them  simply  said  '  Yes.'     Then  they  were  silent  again. 

'  If  I  had  known  an  Amaryllis  was  coming  here,  I 
should  not  have  made  arrangements  for  leaving,'  he 
resumed. 

Such  levity,  superimposed  on  the  notion  of  sport, 
was  intolerable  to  Cytherea  ;  for  a  woman  seems  never 
to  see  any  but  the  serious  side  of  her  attachment,  though 
the  most  devoted  lover  has  all  the  time  a  vague  and 
dim  perception  that  he  is  losing  his  old  dignity  and 
frittering  away  his  time. 

'  But  will  you  not  try  again  to  get  on  in  your  pro- 
fession ?  Try  once  more ;  do  try  once  more,'  she 
murmured.  '  I  am  going  to  try  again.  I  have  adver- 
tised for  something  to  do.' 

*  Of  course  I  will,'  he  said,  with  an  eager  gesture 
and  smile.  '  But  we  must  remember  that  the  fame  of 
Christopher  Wren  himself  depended  upon  the  accident 
of  a  fire  in  Pudding  Lane.  My  successes  seem  to 
come  very  slowly.  I  often  think,  that  before  I  am 
ready  to  live,  it  will  be  time  for  me  to  die.  However, 
I  am  trying — not  for  fame  now,  but  for  an  easy  life  of 
reasonable  comfort.' 

51 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

It  is  a  melancholy  truth  for  the  middle  classes,  that 
in  proportion  as  they  develop,  by  the  study  of  poetry 
and  art,  their  capacity  for  conjugal  love  of  the  highest 
and  purest  kind,  they  limit  the  possibility  of  their  being 
able  to  exercise  it — the  very  act  putting  out  of  their 
power  the  attainment  of  means  sufficient  for  marriage. 
The  man  who  works  up  a  good  income  has  had  no 
time  to  learn  love  to  its  solemn  extreme ;  the  man  who 
has  learnt  that  has  had  no  time  to  get  rich. 

'  And  if  you  should  fail — utterly  fail  to  get  that 
reasonable  wealth,'  she  said  earnestly,  '  don't  be  per- 
turbed. The  truly  great  stand  upon  no  middle  ledge ; 
they  are  either  famous  or  unknown.' 

'  Unknown,'  he  said,  '  if  their  ideas  have  been  allowed 
to  flow  with  a  sympathetic  breadth.  Famous  only  if 
they  have  been  convergent  and  exclusive.' 

'  Yes ;  and  I  am  afraid  from  that,  that  my  remark 
was  but  discouragement,  wearing  the  dress  of  comfort. 
Perhaps  I  was  not  quite  right  in ' 

*  It  depends  entirely  upon  what  is  meant  by  being 
truly  great.  But  the  long  and  the  short  of  the  matter 
is,  that  men  must  stick  to  a  thing  if  they  want  to  suc- 
ceed in  it — not  giving  way  to  over-much  admiration  for 
the  flowers  they  see  growing  in  other  people's  borders  ; 
which  I  am  afraid  has  been  my  case.'  He  looked  into 
the  far  distance  and  paused. 

Adherence  to  a  course  with  persistence  sufficient 
to  ensure  success  is  possible  to  widely  appreciative 
minds  only  when  there  is  also  found  in  them  a  power 
— commonplace  in  its  nature,  but  rare  in  such  com- 
bination— the  power  of  assuming  to  conviction  that  in 
the  outlying  paths  which  appear  so  much  more  brilliant 
than  their  own,  there  are  bitternesses  equally  great — 
unperceived  simply  on  account  of  their  remoteness. 

They  were  opposite  Ringsworth  Shore.  The  cliffs 
here  were  formed  of  strata  completely  contrasting  with 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

those  of  the  lurther  side  of  the  Bay,  whilst  in  and  be- 
neath the  water  hard  boulders  had  taken  the  place  of 
sand  and  shingle,  between  which,  however,  the  sea 
glided  noiselessly,  without  breaking  the  crest  of  a  single 
wave,  so  strikingly  calm  was  the  air.  The  breeze  had 
entirely  died  away,  leaving  the  water  of  that  rare  glassy 
smoothness  which  is  unmarked  even  by  the  small  dimples 
of  the  least  aerial  movement.  Purples  and  blues  of 
divers  shades  were  reflected  from  this  mirror  accordingly 
as  each  undulation  sloped  east  or  west.  They  could 
see  the  rocky  bottom  some  twenty  feet  beneath  them, 
luxuriant  with  weeds  of  various  growths,  and  dotted 
with  pulpy  creatures  reflecting  a  silvery  and  spangled 
radiance  upwards  to  their  eyes. 

At  length  she  looked  at  him  to  learn  the  effect 
of  her  words  of  encouragement.  He  had  let  the  oars 
drift  alongside,  and  the  boat  had  come  to  a  standstill. 
Everything  on  earth  seemed  taking  a  contemplative  rest, 
as  if  waiting  to  hear  the  avowal  of  something  from  his 
lips.  At  that  instant  he  appeared  to  break  a  resolution 
hitherto  zealously  kept.  Leaving  his  seat  amidships  he 
came  and  gently  edged  himself  down  beside  her  upon 
the  narrow  seat  at  the  stern. 

She  breathed  more  quickly  and  warmly  :  he  took  her 
right  hand  in  his  own  right :  it  was  not  withdrawn.  He 
put  his  left  hand  behind  her  neck  till  it  came  round 
upon  her  left  cheek  :  it  was  not  thrust  away.  Lightly 
pressing  her,  he  brought  her  face  and  mouth  towards 
his  own ;  when,  at  this  the  very  brink,  some  unaccount- 
able thought  or  spell  within  him  suddenly  made  him 
halt — even  now,  and  as  it  seemed  as  much  to  himself 
as  to  her,  he  timidly  whispered  '  May  I  ?  ' 

Her  endeavour  was  to  say  No,  so  denuded  of  its 
flesh  and  sinews  that  its  nature  would  hardly  be  recog- 
nized, or  in  other  words  a  No  from  so  near  the  affirma- 
tive frontier  as  to  be  affected  with  the  Yes  accent.  It 
was  thus  a  whispered  No,  drawn  out  to  nearly  a  quarter 

"  53- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

of  a  minute's  length,  the  O  making  itself  audible  as  a 
sound  like  the  spring  coo  of  a  pigeon  on  unusually 
friendly  terms  with  its  mate.  Though  conscious  of  her 
success  in  producing  the  kind  of  word  she  had  wished 
to  produce,  she  at  the  same  time  trembled  in  suspense 
as  to  how  it  would  be  taken.  But  the  time  available 
for  doubt  was  so  short  as  to  admit  of  scarcely  more 
than  half  a  pulsation :  pressing  closer  he  kissed  her. 
Then  he  kissed  her  again. with  a  longer  kiss. 

It  was  the  supremely  happy  moment  of  their  experi- 
ence. The  '  bloom  '  and  the  *  purple  light '  were  strong 
on  the  lineaments  of  both.  Their  hearts  could  hardly 
believe  the  evidence  of  their  lips. 

'  I  love  you,  and  you  love  me,  Cytherea ! '  he 
whispered. 

She  did  not  deny  it ;  and  all  seemed  well.  The 
gentle  sounds  around  them  from  the  hills,  the  plains, 
the  distant  town,  the  adjacent  shore,  the  water  heaving 
at  their  side,  the  kiss,  and  the  long  kiss,  were  all  *  many 
a  voice  of  one  delight,'  and  in  unison  with  each  other. 

But  his  mind  flew  back  to  the  same  unpleasant 
thought  which  had  been  connected  with  the  resolution 
he  had  broken  a  minute  or  two  earlier.  '  I  could  be  a 
slave  at  my  profession  to  win  you,  Cytherea;  I  would 
work  at  the  meanest  honest  trade  to  be  near  you — ■ 
much  less  claim  you  as  mine  ;  I  would — anything.  But 
I  have  not  told  you  all ;  it  is  not  this  ;  you  don't  know 
what  there  is  yet  to  tell.  Could  you  forgive  as  you  can 
love  ? '  She  was  alarmed  to  see  that  he  had  become 
pale  with  the  question. 

'  No — do  not  speak,'  he  said.  *  I  have  kept  some- 
thing from  you,  which  has  now  become  the  cause  of  a 
great  uneasiness.  I  had  no  right — to  love  you ;  but  I 
did  it.     Something  forbade ' 

'  What  ? '  she  exclaimed. 

'  Something  forbade  me — till  the  kiss — yes,  till  the 
kiss   came ;    and  now   nothing  shall   forbid   it !     We'll 

54 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

hope  in  spite  of  all.  ...  I  must,  however,  speak  of  this 
love  of  ours  to  your  brother.  Dearest,  you  had  better 
go  indoors  whilst  I  meet  him  at  the  station,  and  explain 
everything.' 

Cytherea's  short-lived  bliss  was  dead  and  gone.  O, 
if  she  had  known  of  this  sequel  would  she  have  allowed 
him  to  break  down  the  barrier  of  mere  acquaintanceship 
— never,  never ! 

*  Will  you  not  explain  to  me  ? '  she  faintly  urged. 
Doubt — indefinite,  carking  doubt  had  taken  possession 
of  her. 

*  Not  now.  You  alarm  yourself  unnecessarily,'  he 
said  tenderly.  '  My  only  reason  for  keeping  silence  is 
that  with  my  present  knowledge  I  may  tell  an  untrue 
story.  It  may  be  that  there  is  nothing  to  tell.  I  am 
to  blame  for  haste  in  alluding  to  any  such  thing.  For- 
give me,  sweet— forgive  me.'  Her  heart  was  ready  to 
burst,  and  she  could  not  answer  him.  He  returned  to 
his  place  and  took  to  the  oars. 

They  again  made  for  the  distant  Esplanade,  now,  with 
its  line  of  houses,  lying  like  a  dark  grey  band  against 
the  light  western  sky.  The  sun  had  set,  and  a  star  or 
two  began  to  peep  out.  They  drew  nearer  their  desti- 
nation, Edward  as  he  pulled  tracing  Ustlessly  with  his 
eyes  the  red  stripes  upon  her  scarf,  which  grew  to  appear 
as  black  ones  in  the  increasing  dusk  of  evening.  She 
surveyed  the  long  line  of  lamps  on  the  sea-wall  of  the 
town,  now  looking  small  and  yellow,  and  seeming  to 
send  long  tap-roots  of  fire  quivering  down  deep  into  the 
sea.  By-and-by  they  reached  the  landing-steps.  He 
took  her  hand  as  before,  and  found  it  as  cold  as  the 
water  about  them.  It  was  not  relinquished  till  he 
reached  her  door.  His  assurance  had  not  removed  the 
constraint  of  her  manner :  he  saw  that  she  blamed  him 
mutely  and  with  her  eyes,  like  a  captured  sparrow.  Loft 
alone,  he  went  and  seated  himself  in  a  chair  on  the 
Esplanade. 

55 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Neither  could  she  go  indoors  to  her  solitary  room, 
feeling  as  she  did  in  such  a  state  of  desperate  heaviness. 
When  Springrove  was  out  of  sight  she  turned  back,  and 
arrived  at  the  corner  just  in  time  to  see  him  sit  down. 
Then  she  glided  pensively  along  the  pavement  behind 
him,  forgetting  herself  to  marble  like  Melancholy  herself 
as  she  mused  in  his  neighbourhood  unseen.  She  heard, 
without  heeding,  the  notes  of  pianos  and  singing  voices 
from  the  fashionable  houses  at  her  back,  from  the  open 
windows  of  which  the  lamp-light  streamed  to  join  that 
of  the  orange-hued  full  moon,  newly  riseri  over  the  Bay 
in  front.  Then  Edward  began  to  pace  up  and  down, 
and  Cytherea,  fearing  that  he  would  notice  her,  hastened 
homeward,  flinging  him  a  last  look  as  she  passed  out  of 
sight.  No  promise  from  him  to  write :  no  request  that 
she  herself  would  do  so — nothing  but  an  indefinite 
expression  of  hope  in  the  face  of  some  fear  unknown  to 
her.     Alas,  alas ! 

When  Owen  returned  he  found  she  was  not  in  the 
small  sitting-room,  and  creeping  upstairs  into  her  bed- 
room with  a  light,  he  discovered  her  there  lying  asleep 
upon  the  coverlet  of  the  bed,  still  with  her  hat  and 
jacket  on.  She  had  flung  herself  down  on  entering,  and 
succumbed  to  the  unwonted  oppressiveness  that  ever 
attends  full-blown  love.  The  wet  traces  of  tears  were 
yet  visible  upon  her  long  drooping  lashes. 

'  Love  is  a  sowre  delight,  and  sugrcd  griefe, 
A  living  death,  and  ever-dying  life.' 

'  Cytherea,'  he  whispered,  kissing  her.  She  awoke 
with  a  start,  and  vented  an  exclamation  before  recovering 
her  judgment.      '  He's  gone  ! '  she  said. 

'  He  has  told  me  all,'  said  Graye  soothingly.  *  He 
is  going  off  early  to-morrow  morning.  'Twas  a  shame 
of  him  to  win  you  away  from  me,  and  cruel  of  you  to 
keep  the  growth  of  this  attachment  a  secret.' 

56 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  We  couldn't  help  it,'  she  said,  and  then  jumping  up 
— *  Owen,  has  he  told  you  all  ? ' 

'  All  of  your  love  from  beginning  to  end,'  he  said 
simply. 

Edward  then  had  not  told  more — as  he  ought  to 
have  done  :  yet  she  could  not  convict  him.  But  she 
would  struggle  against  his  fetters.  She  tingled  to  the 
very  soles  of  her  feet  at  the  very  possibility  that  he 
might  be  deluding  her. 

'  Owen,'  she  continued,  with  dignity,  '  what  is  he  to 
me?  Nothing.  I  must  dismiss  such  weakness  as  this 
— believe  me,  I  will.  Something  far  more  pressing 
must  drive  it  away.  I  have  been  looking  my  position 
steadily  in  the  face,  and  I  must  get  a  living  somehow. 
I  mean  to  advertise  once  more.' 

*  Advertising  is  no  use.' 

*  This  one  will  be.'  He  looked  surprised  at  the 
sanguine  tone  of  her  answer,  till  she  took  a  piece  of 
paper  from  the  table  and  showed  it  him.  '  See  what  I 
am  going  to  do,'  she  said  sadly,  almost  bitterly.  This 
was  her  third  effort : — 

'  Ladv's-Maid.  Inexperienced.  Age  eighteen. — G.,  3  Cress 
Street,  Budmouth.' 

Owen — Owen  the  respectable — looked  blank  astonish- 
ment. He  repeated  in  a  nameless,  varying  tone,  the 
two  words — 

'  Lady's-maid  1  * 

*Yes;  lady's-maid.  'Tis  an  honest  profession,'  said 
Cytherea  bravely. 

'  But  you,  Cytherea  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I — who  am  I  ?  ' 

'  You  will  never  be  a  lady's-maid — never,  I  am  quite 
sure.' 

'  I  shall  try  to  be,  at  any  rate.' 

*  Such  a  disgrace ' 

57 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*  Nonsense  !  I  maintain  that  it  is  no  disgrace ! '  she 
said,  rather  warmly.     '  You  know  very  well ' 

'  Well,  since  you  will,  you  must,'  he  interrupted. 
'  Why  do  you  put  "  inexperienced  ?  "  ' 

'  Because  I  am.' 

'  Never  mind  that — scratch  out  "  inexperienced." 
We  are  poor,  Cytherea,  aren't  we?'  he  murmured,  after 
a  silence,  'and  it  seems  that  the  two  months  will  close 
my  engagement  here.' 

'  We  can  put  up  with  being  poor,'  she  said,  '  if  they 
only  give  us  work  to  do.  .  .  .  Yes,  we  desire  as  a 
blessing  what  was  given  us  as  a  curse,  and  even  that 
is  denied.  However,  be  cheerful,  Owen,  and  never 
mind  ! ' 

In  justice  to  desponding  men,  it  is  as  well  to  re- 
member that  the  brighter  endurance  of  women  at  these 
epochs — invaluable,  sweet,  angelic,  as  it  is — owes  more 
of  its  origin  to  a  narrower  vision  that  shuts  out  many  of 
the  leaden-eyed  despairs  in  the  van,  than  to  a  hopeful- 
ness intense  enough  to  quell  them. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


IV 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

ONE  DA  V 


I.  August  the  Fourth.    Till  Four  o'clock 

1  HE  early  part  of  the  next  week  brought  an  answer  to 
Cytherea's  last  note  of  hope  in  the  way  of  advertisement 
— not  from  a  distance  of  hundreds  of  miles,  London, 
Scotland,  Ireland,  the  Continent — as  Cytherea  seemed 
to  think  it  must,  to  be  in  keeping  with  the  means 
adopted  for  obtaining  it,  but  from  a  place  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  that  in  which  she  was  living — a  country 
mansion  not  twenty  miles  off.     The  reply  ran  thus  : — 

'  Knapwater  House, 

August  3,  1864. 
'  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  in  want  of  a  young  person  as  lady's-maid. 
The  duties  of  the  place  are  light.  Miss  Aldclyffe  will  be  in 
Budmouth  on  Thursday,  when  (should  G.  still  not  have  heard  of  a 
place)  she  would  like  to  see  her  at  the  Belvedere  Hotel,  Esplanade, 
at  four  o'clock.     No  answer  need  be  returned  to  this  note.' 

A  little  earlier  than  the  time  named,  Cytherea,  clothed 
in  a  modest  bonnet,  and  a  black  silk  jacket,  turned  down 
to  the  hotel.  Expectation,  the  fresh  air  from  the  water, 
the  bright,  far-extending  outlook,  raised  the  most  delicate 

59 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

of  pink  colours  to  her  cheeks,  and  restored  to  her  tread 
a  portion  of  that  elasticity  which  her  past  troubles,  and 
thoughts  of  Edward,  had  well-nigh  taken  away. 

She  entered  the  vestibule,  and  went  to  the  window  of 
the  bar. 

*  Is  Miss  Aldclyffe  here  ?  '  she  said  to  a  nicely-dressed 
barmaid  in  the  foreground,  who  was  talking  to  a  landlady 
covered  with  chains,  knobs,  and  clamps  of  gold,  in  the 
background. 

'  No,  she  isn't,'  said  the  barmaid,  not  very  civilly. 
Cytherea  looked  a  shade  too  pretty  for  a  plain  dresser, 

'  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  expected  here,'  the  landlady  said 
to  a  third  person,  out  of  sight,  in  the  tone  of  one  who 
had  known  for  several  days  the  fact  newly  discovered 
from  Cytherea.  'Get  ready  her  room — be  quick.' 
From  the  alacrity  with  which  the  order  was  given  and 
taken,  it  seemed  to  Cytherea  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  must 
be  a  woman  of  considerable  importance. 

'  You  are  to  have  an  interview  with  Miss  Aldclyffe 
here  ?  '  the  landlady  inquired. 

'  Yes.' 

'  The  young  person  had  better  wait,'  continued  the 
landlady.  With  a  money-taker's  intuition  she  had 
rightly  divined  that  Cytherea  would  bring  no  profit  to 
the  house. 

Cytherea  was  shown  into  a  nondescript  chamber,  on 
the  shady  side  of  the  building,  which  appeared  to  be 
either  bedroom  or  dayroom,  as  occasion  necessitated, 
and  was  one  of  a  suite  at  the  end  of  the  first-floor 
corridor.  The  prevailing  colour  of  the  walls,  curtains, 
carpet,  and  coverings  of  furniture,  was  more  or  less 
blue,  to  which  the  cold  light  coming  from  the  north- 
easterly sky,  and  falling  on  a  wide  roof  of  new  slates 
— the  only  object  the  small  window  commanded — 
imparted  a  more  striking  paleness.  But  underneath 
the  door,  communicating  with  the  next  room  of  the 
suite,  gleamed  an  infinitcsimally  small,  yet  very  powerful, 

60 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

fraction  of  contrast — a  very  thin  line  of  ruddy  light, 
showing  that  the  sun  beamed  strongly  into  this  room 
adjoining.  The  line  of  radiance  was  the  only  cheering 
thing  visible  in  the  place. 

People  give  way  to  very  infantine  thoughts  and 
actions  when  they  wait ;  the  battle-field  of  life  is  tempor- 
arily fenced  off  by  a  hard  and  fast  line — the  interview. 
Cytherea  fixed  her  eyes  idly  upon  the  streak,  and 
began  picturing  a  wonderful  paradise  on  the  other  side 
as  the  source  of  such  a  beam — reminding  her  of  the 
well-known  good  deed  in  a  naughty  world. 

Whilst  she  watched  the  particles  of  dust  floating  before 
the  brilliant  chink  she  heard  a  carriage  and  horses  stop 
opposite  the  front  of  the  house.  Afterwards  came  the 
rustle  of  a  lady's  skirts  down  the  corridor,  and  into  the 
room  communicating  with  the  one  Cytherea  occupied. 

The  golden  line  vanished  in  parts  like  the  phosphor- 
escent streak  caused  by  the  striking  of  a  match  ;  there 
was  the  fall  of  a  light  footstep  on  the  floor  just  behind 
it;  then  a  pause.  Then  the  foot  tapped  impatiently, 
and  '  There's  no  one  here  ! '  was  spoken  imperiously  by 
a  lady's  tongue. 

'  No,  madam ;  in  the  next  room.  I  am  going  to 
fetch  her,'  said  the  attendant. 

'  That  will  do  — or  you  needn't  go  in  ;  I  will  call  her.' 

Cytherea  had  risen,  and  she  advanced  to  the  middle 
door  with  the  chink  under  it  as  the  servant  retired.  She 
had  just  laid  her  hand  on  the  knob,  when  it  slipped  round 
within  her  fingers,  and  the  door  was  pulled  open  from  the 
other  side. 

2.  Four  o'clock 

The  direct  blaze  of  the  afternoon  sun,  partly  re- 
fracted through  the  crimson  curtains  of  the  window, 
and  heightened  by  reflections  from  the  crimson-flock 
paper  which   covered   the   walls,  and   a  carpet  on   the 

6i 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

floor  of  the  same  tint,  shone  with  a  burning  glow  round 
the  form  of  a  lady  standing  close  to  Cytherea's  front 
with  the  door  in  her  hand.  The  stranger  appeared  to 
the  maiden's  eyes — fresh  from  the  blue  gloom,  and 
assisted  by  an  imagination  fresh  from  nature — like  a 
tall  black  figure  standing  in  the  midst  of  fire.  It  was 
the  figure  of  a  finely-built  woman,  of  spare  though  not 
angular  proportions. 

Cytherea  involuntarily  shaded  her  eyes  with  her 
hand,  retreated  a  step  or  two,  and  then  she  could  for 
the  first  time  see  Miss  Aldclyffe's  face  in  addition  to 
her  outline,  lit  up  by  the  secondary  and  softer  light  that 
was  reflected  from  the  varnished  panels  of  the  door. 
She  was  not  a  very  young  woman,  but  could  boast  of 
much  beauty  of  the  majestic  autumnal  phase. 

'  O,'  said  the  lady,  '  come  this  way.'  Cytherea 
followed  her  to  the  embrasure  of  the  window. 

Both  the  women  showed  off  themselves  to  advantage 
as  they  walked  forward  in  the  orange  light ;  and  each 
showed  too  in  her  face  that  she  had  been  struck  with 
her  companion's  appearance.  The  warm  tint  added  to 
Cytherea's  face  a  voluptuousness  which  youth  and  a 
simple  life  had  not  yet  allowed  to  express  itself  there 
ordinarily;  whilst  in  the  elder  lady's  face  it  reduced 
the  customary  expression,  which  might  have  been  called 
sternness,  if  not  harshness,  to  grandeur,  and  warmed 
her  decaying  complexion  with  much  of  the  youthful 
richness  it  plainly  had  once  possessed. 

She  appeared  now  no  more  than  five-and-thirty, 
though  she  might  easily  have  been  ten  or  a  dozen  years 
older.  She  had  clear  steady  eyes,  a  Roman  nose  in  its 
purest  form,  and  also  the  round  prominent  chin  with 
which  the  Caesars  are  represented  in  ancient  marbles ; 
a  mouth  expressing  a  capability  for  and  tendency  to 
strong  emotion,  habitually  controlled  by  pride.  There 
was  a  severity  about  the  lower  outlines  of  the  face  which 
gave  a  masculine  cast  to  this  portion  of  her  countenance. 

62 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Womanly  weakness  was  nowhere  visible  save  in  one 
part — the  curve  of  her  forehead  and  brows — there  it 
was  clear  and  emphatic.  She  wore  a  lace  shawl  over 
a  brown  silk  dress,  and  a  net  bonnet  set  with  a  few  blue 
cornflowers. 

'  You  inserted  the  advertisement  for  a  situation  as 
lady's-maid  giving  the  address,  G.,  Cross  Street  ? ' 

'  Yes,  madam.     Graye.' 

'Yes.  I  have  heard  your  name — Mrs.  Morris,  my 
housekeeper,  mentioned  you,  and  pointed  out  your 
advertisement.' 

This  was  puzzling  intelligence,  but  there  was  not 
time  enough  to  consider  it. 

*  Where  did  you  live  last  ?  '  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe. 
'  I  have   never  been  a  servant  before.     I   lived  at 

home.' 

'  Never  been  out  ?  I  thought  too  at  sight  of  you 
that  you  were  too  girlish-looking  to  have  done  much. 
But  why  did  you  advertise  with  such  assurance?  It 
misleads  people.' 

'  I  am  very  sorry  :  I  put  "  inexperienced  "  at  first,  but 
my  brother  said  it  is  absurd  to  trumpet  your  own  weak- 
ness to  the  world,  and  would  not  let  it  remain.' 

'  But  your  mother  knew  what  was  right,  I  suppose  ? ' 

*  I  have  no  mother,  madam.' 
'  Your  father,  then  ? ' 

*  I  have  no  father.' 

'  Well,'  she  said,  more  softly,  '  your  sisters,  aunts,  or 
cousins.' 

'  They  didn't  think  anything  about  it.' 

*  You  didn't  ask  them,  I  suppose.' 
'No.' 

*  You  should  have  done  so,  then.    Why  didn't  you  ? ' 
'  Because  I  haven't  any  of  them,  either.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  showed  her  surprise.  'You  deserve 
forgiveness  then  at  any  rate,  child,'  she  said,  in  a  sort 
of  drily-kind  tone.      '  However,  I  am  afraid  you  do  not 

6-. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

suit  me,  as  I  am  looking  for  an  elderly  person.  You 
see,  I  want  an  experienced  maid  who  knows  all  the  usual 
duties  of  the  office.  She  was  going  to  add,  *  Though  I 
like  your  appearance,'  but  the  words  seemed  offensive  to 
apply  to  the  ladylike  girl  before  her,  and  she  modified 
them  to,  '  though  I  like  you  much.' 

'  I  am  sorry  I  misled  you,  madam,'  said  Cytherea. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  stood  in  a  reverie,  without  replying. 

*  Good  afternoon,'  continued  Cytherea. 

*  Good-bye,  Miss  Graye — I  hope  you  will  succeed.' 
Cytherea  turned  away  towards  the  door.  The  move- 
ment chanced  to  be  one  of  her  masterpieces.  It  was 
precise  :  it  had  as  much  beauty  as  was  compatible  with 
precision,  and  as  little  coquettishness  as  was  compatible 
with  beauty. 

And  she  had  in  turning  looked  over  her  shoulder  at 
the  other  lady  with  a  faint  accent  of  reproach  in  her  face. 
Those  who  remember  Greuze's  '  Head  of  a  Girl,'  have 
an  idea  of  Cytherea's  look  askance  at  the  turning.  It  is 
not  for  a  man  to  tell  fishers  of  men  how  to  set  out  their 
fascinations  so  as  to  bring  about  the  highest  possible 
average  of  takes  within  the  year :  but  the  action  that 
tugs  the  hardest  of  all  at  an  emotional  beholder  is  this 
sweet  method  of  turning  which  steals  the  bosom  away 
and  leaves  the  eyes  behind. 

Now  Miss  Aldclyffe  herself  was  no  tyro  at  wheeling. 
When  Cytherea  had  closed  the  door  upon  her,  she 
remained  for  some  time  in  her  motionless  attitude, 
listening  to  the  gradually  dying  sound  of  the  maiden's 
retreating  footsteps.  She  murmured  to  herself,  *  It  is 
almost  worth  while  to  be  bored  with  instructing  her 
in  order  to  have  a  creature  who  could  glide  round  my 
luxurious  indolent  body  in  that  manner,  and  look  at  me 
in  that  way — I  warrant  how  light  her  fingers  are  upon 
one's  head  and  neck.  .  .  .  What  a  silly  modest  young 
thing  she  is,  to  go  away  so  suddenly  as  that ! '  She 
rang  the  bell. 

64 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*  Ask  the  young  lady  who  has  just  left  me  to  step 
back  again,'  she  said  to  the  attendant.  '  Quick !  or 
she  will  be  gone.' 

Cytherea  was  now  in  the  vestibule,  thinking  that  if 
she  had  told  her  history,  Miss  Aldclyffe  might  perhaps 
have  taken  her  into  the  household ;  yet  her  history  she 
particularly  wished  to  conceal  from  a  stranger.  When 
she  was  recalled  she  turned  back  without  feeling  much 
surprise.  Something,  she  knew  not  what,  told  her  she 
had  not  seen  the  last  of  Miss  x\ldclyffe. 

'  You  have  somebody  to  refer  me  to,  of  course,'  the 
lady  said,  when  Cytherea  had  re-entered  the  room. 

'  Yes  :  Mr.  Thorn,  a  solicitor  at  Aldbrickham.' 

'  And  are  you  a  clever  needlewoman  ?  ' 

'  I  am  considered  to  be.' 

'Then  I  think  that  at  any  rate  I  will  write  to  Mr. 
Thorn,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  a  little  smile.  '  It  is 
true,  the  whole  proceeding  is  very  irregular;  but  my 
present  maid  leaves  next  Monday,  and  neither  of  the 
five  I  have  already  seen  seem  to  do  for  me.  .  .  .  Well, 
I  will  write  to  Mr.  Thorn,  and  if  his  reply  is  satisfactory, 
you  shall  hear  from  me.  It  will  be  as  well  to  set  your- 
self in  readiness  to  come  on  Monday.' 

When  Cytherea  had  again  been  watched  out  of  the 
room,  Miss  Aldclyffe  asked  for  writing  materials,  that 
she  might  at  once  communicate  with  Mr.  Thorn.  She 
indecisively  played  with  the  pen.  '  Suppose  Mr.  Thorn's 
reply  to  be  in  any  way  disheartening — and  even  if  so 
from  his  own  imperfect  acquaintance  with  the  young 
creature  more  than  from  circumstantial  knowledge — I 
shall  feel  obliged  to  give  her  up.  Then  I  shall  regret 
that  I  did  not  give  her  one  trial  in  spite  of  other  people's 
prejudices.  AH  her  account  of  herself  is  reliable  enough 
— yes,  I  can  see  that  by  her  face.  I  like  that  face 
of  hers.' 

Miss  Aldclyfie  put  down  the  pen  and  left  the  hotel 
without  writing  to  Mr.  Thorn. 

65  E 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


THE  EVENTS  OF 

ONE  DA  Y 

I.  August  the  Eighth.     Morning  and  Afternoon 

jAlT  post-time  on  that  following  Monday  morning, 
Cytherea  watched  so  anxiously  for  the  postman,  that  as 
the  time  which  must  bring  him  narrowed  less  and  less 
her  vivid  expectation  had  only  a  degree  less  tangibility 
than  his  presence  itself.  In  another  second  his  form 
came  into  view.     He  brought  two  letters  for  Cytherea. 

One  from  Miss  Aldclyffe,  simply  stating  that  she 
wished  Cytherea  to  come  on  trial :  that  she  would 
require  her  to  be  at  Knapwater  House  by  Monday 
evening. 

The  other  was  from  Edward  Springrove.  He  told 
her  that  she  was  the  bright  spot  of  his  life :  that  her 
existence  was  far  dearer  to  him  than  his  own  :  that  he 
had  never  known  what  it  was  to  love  till  he  had  met 
her.  True,  he  had  felt  passing  attachments  to  other 
faces  from  time  to  time;  but  they  all  had  been  weak 
inclinations  towards  those  faces  as  they  then  appeared. 
He  loved  her  past  and  future,  as  well  as  her  present. 
He  pictured  her  as  a  child :  he  loved  her.  He  pictured 
her  of  sage  years :  he  loved  her.     He  pictured  her  in 

66 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

trouble ;  he  loved  her.  Homely  friendship  entered  into 
his  love  for  her,  without  which  all  love  was  evanescent. 

He  would  make  one  depressing  statement.  Uncon- 
trollable circumstances  (a  long  history,  with  which  it 
was  impossible  to  acquaint  her  at  present)  operated  to  a 
certain  extent  as  a  drag  upon  his  wishes.  He  had  felt 
this  more  strongly  at  the  time  of  their  parting  than  he 
did  now — and  it  was  the  cause  of  his  abrupt  behaviour, 
for  which  he  begged  her  to  forgive  him.  He  saw  now 
an  honourable  way  of  freeing  himself,  and  the  perception 
had  prompted  him  to  write.  In  the  meantime  might 
he  indulge  in  the  hope  of  possessing  her  on  some  bright 
future  day,  when  by  hard  labour  generated  from  her  own 
encouraging  w-ords,  he  had  placed  himself  in  a  position 
she  would  think  worthy  to  be  shared  with  him  ? 

Dear  little  letter;  she  huddled  it  up.  So  much 
more  important  a  love-letter  seems  to  a  girl  than  to 
a  man.  Springrove  was  unconsciously  clever  in  his 
letters,  and  a  man  with  a  talent  of  that  kind  may  write 
himself  up  to  a  hero  in  the  mind  of  a  young  woman 
who  loves  him  without  knowing  much  about  him. 
Springrove  already  stood  a  cubit  higher  in  her  imagina- 
tion than  he  did  in  his  shoes. 

During  the  day  she  flitted  about  the  room,  in  an 
ecstasy  of  pleasure,  packing  the  things  and  thinking  of 
an  answer  which  should  be  worthy  of  the  tender  tone  of 
the  question,  her  love  bubbling  from  her  involuntarily, 
like  prophesyings  from  a  prophet. 

In  the  afternoon  Owen  went  with  her  to  the  railway- 
station,  and  put  her  in  the  train  for  Carriford  Road,  the 
station  nearest  to  Knapwater  House. 

Half-an-hour  later  she  stepped  out  upon  the  platform, 
and  found  nobody  there  to  receive  her — though  a  pony- 
carriage  was  waiting  outside.  In  two  minutes  she  saw  a 
melancholy  man  in  cheerful  livery  running  towards  her 
from  a  public-house  close  adjoining,  who  proved  to  be 
the  servant  sent  to  fetch  her.     There  are  two  ways  of 

67 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

getting  rid  of  sorrows :  one  by  Jiving  them  down,  the 
other  by  drowning  them.     The  coachman  drowned  his. 

He  informed  her  that  her  luggage  would  be  fetched 
by  a  spring-waggon  in  about  half-an-hour ;  then  helped 
her  into  the  chaise  and  drove  off. 

Her  lover's  letter,  lying  close  against  her  neck,  forti- 
fied her  against  the  restless  timidity  she  had  previously 
felt  concerning  this  new  undertaking,  and  completely 
furnished  her  with  the  confident  ease  of  mind  which 
is  required  for  the  critical  observation  of  surrounding 
objects.  It  was  just  that  stage  in  the  slow  dechne  of 
the  summer  days,  when  the  deep,  dark,  and  vacuous 
hot-weather  shadows  are  beginning  to  be  replaced  by 
blue  ones  that  have  a  surface  and  substance  to  the  eye. 
They  trotted  along  the  turnpike  road  for  a  distance  of 
about  a  mile,  which  brought  them  just  outside  the  village 
of  Carriford,  and  then  turned  through  large  lodge-gates, 
on  the  heavy  stone  piers  of  which  stood  a  pair  of  bitterns 
cast  in  bronze.  They  then  entered  the  park  and  wound 
along  a  drive  shaded  by  old  and  drooping  lime-trees, 
not  arranged  in  the  form  of  an  avenue,  but  standing 
irregularly,  sometimes  leaving  the  track  completely  ex- 
posed to  the  sky,  at  other  times  casting  a  shade  over  it, 
which  almost  approached  gloom — the  under  surface  of 
the  lowest  boughs  hanging  at  a  uniform  level  of  si.x 
feet  above  the  grass — the  extreme  height  to  which  the 
nibbling  mouths  of  the  cattle  could  reach. 

'  Is  that  the  house  ? '  said  Cytherea  expectantly, 
catching  sight  of  a  grey  gable  between  the  trees,  and 
losing  it  again. 

'  No ;  that's  the  old  manor-house — or  rather  all  that's 
left  of  it.  The  Aldyclififes  used  to  let  it  sometimes, 
but  it  was  oftener  empty.  'Tis  now  divided  into  three 
cottages.     Respectable  people  didn't  care  to  live  there.' 

'  Why  didn't  they  ? ' 

'Well,  'tis  so  awkward  and  unhandy.  You  see  so 
much  of  it  has  been  pulled  down,  and  the  rooms  that 

68 


XTESPERATE   REMEDIES 

are  left  won't  do  very  well  for  a  small  residence.  'Tis 
so  dismal,  too,  and  like  most  old  houses  stands  too  low 
down  in  the  hollow  to  be  healthy.' 

*  Do  they  tell  any  horrid  stories  about  it  ? ' 
'  No,  not  a  single  one.' 

'  Ah,  that's  a  pity.' 

'Yes,  that's  what  I  say.  'Tis  jest  the  house  for  a 
nice  ghastly  hair-on-end  story,  that  would  make  the 
parish  religious.  Perhaps  it  will  have  one  some  day  to 
make  it  complete ;  but  there's  not  a  word  of  the  kind 
now.  There,  I  wouldn't  live  there  for  all  that.  In 
fact,  I  couldn't.     O  no,  I  couldn't.' 

'  Why  couldn't  you  ?  ' 

'  The  sounds.' 

'  What  are  they  ?  ' 

'  One  is  the  waterfall,  which  stands  so  close  by  that 
you  can  hear  that  there  waterfall  in  every  room  of  the 
house,  night  or  day,  ill  or  well.  'Tis  enough  to  drive 
anybody  mad  :  now  hark.' 

He  stopped  the  horse.  Above  the  slight  common 
sounds  in  the  air  came  the  unvarj'ing  steady  rush  of 
falling  water  from  some  spot  unseen  on  account  of  the 
thick  foliage  of  the  grove. 

*  There's  something  awful  in  the  timing  o'  that  sound, 
ain't  there,  miss  ? ' 

'  When  you  say  there  is,  there  really  seems  to  be. 
You  said  there  were  two — what  is  the  other  horrid 
sound  ? ' 

'  The  pumping-engine.  That's  close  by  the  Old 
House,  and  sends  water  up  the  hill  and  all  over  the 
Great  House.  We  shall  hear  that  directly.  .  .  .  There, 
now  hark  again.' 

From  the  same  direction  down  the  dell  they  could 
now  hear  the  whistling  creak  of  cranks,  repeated  at  in- 
tervals of  half-a-minute,  with  a  sousing  noise  between 
each  :  a  creak,  a  souse,  then  another  creak,  and  so  on 
continually. 

»  69 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*  Now  if  anybody  could  make  shift  to  live  through 
the  other  sounds,  these  would  finish  him  off,  don't  you 
think  so,  miss  ?  That  machine  goes  on  night  and  day, 
summer  and  winter,  and  is  hardly  ever  greased  or  visited. 
Ah,  it  tries  the  nerves  at  night,  especially  if  you  are  not 
very  well ;  though  we  don't  often  hear  it  at  the  Great 
House.' 

'  That  sound  is  certainly  very  dismal.  They  might 
have  the  wheel  greased.  .  Does  Miss  Aldclyffe  take  any 
interest  in  these  things  ?  ' 

*  Well,  scarcely ;  you  see  her  father  doesn't  attend  to 
that  sort  of  thing  as  he  used  to.  The  engine  was  once 
quite  his  hobby.  But  now  he's  getten  old  and  very 
seldom  goes  there.' 

'  How  many  are  there  in  family  ?  ' 

'  Only  her  father  and  herself  He's  a'  old  man  of 
seventy.' 

'  I  had  thought  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  sole  mistress 
of  the  property,  and  lived  here  alone.' 

'  No,  m '  The  coachman  was  continually  check- 
ing himself  thus,  being  about  to  style  her  miss  involun- 
tarily, and  then  recollecting  that  he  was  only  speaking 
to  the  new  lady's-maid. 

'  She  will  soon  be  mistress,  however,  I  am  afraid,'  he 
continued,  as  if  speaking  by  a  spirit  of  prophecy  denied 
to  ordinary  humanity.  '  The  poor  old  gentleman  has 
decayed  very  fast  lately.'  The  man  then  drew  a  long 
breath. 

'  Why  did  you  breathe  sadly  like  that  ? '  said 
Cytherea. 

'  Ah !  .  .  .  When  he's  dead  peace  will  be  all  over 
with  us  old  servants.  I  expect  to  see  the  old  house 
turned  inside  out.' 

'  Sb.e  will  marry,  do  you  mean  ? ' 

*  Marry — not  she  !  I  wish  she  would.  No,  in  her 
soul  she's  as  solitary  as  Robinson  Crusoe,  though  she 
has  acquaintances  in  plenty,  if  not  relations.     There's 

70. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  rector,  Mr.  Raunham — he's  a  relation  by  marriage 
— yet  she's  quite  distant  towards  him.  And  people  say 
that  if  she  keeps  single  there  will  be  hardly  a  life  between 
Mr.  Raunham  and  the  heirship  of  the  estate.  Dang 
it,  she  don't  care.  She's  an  extraordinary  picture  of 
womankind — very  extraordinary.' 

'  In  what  way  besides  ?  ' 

'  You'll  know  soon  enough,  miss.  She  has  had  seven 
lady's-maids  this  last  twelvemonth.  I  assure  you  'tis  one 
body's  work  to  fetch  'em  from  the  station  and  take  'em 
back  again.  The  Lord  must  be  a  neglectful  party  at 
heart,  or  he'd  never  permit  such  overbearen  goings  on  ! ' 

'  Does  she  dismiss  them  directly  they  come  ! ' 

'  Not  at  all — she  never  dismisses  them — they  go  their- 
selves.  Ye  see  'tis  like  this.  She's  got  a  very  quick 
temper ;  she  flees  in  a  passion  with  them  for  nothing  at 
all ;  next  mornen  they  come  up  and  say  they  are  going ; 
she's  sorry  for  it  and  wishes  they'd  stay,  but  she's  as 
proud  as  a  lucifer,  and  her  pride  won't  let  her  say, 
"  Stay,"  and  away  they  go.  'Tis  like  this  in  fact.  If 
you  say  to  her  about  anybody,  "  Ah,  poor  thing  !  "  she 
says,  "  Pooh  !  indeed  !  "  If  you  say,  "  Pooh,  indeed  !  " 
"  Ah,  poor  thing !  "  she  says  directly.  She  hangs  the 
chief  baker,  as  mid  be,  and  restores  the  chief  butler,  as 
mid  be,  though  the  devil  but  Pharaoh  herself  can  see 
the  difference  between  'em.' 

Cytherea  was  silent.  She  feared  she  might  be  again 
a  burden  to  her  brother. 

*  However,  you  stand  a  very  good  chance,'  the  man 
went  on,  '  for  I  think  she  likes  you  more  than  common. 
I  have  never  known  her  send  the  pony-carriage  to  meet 
one  before ;  'tis  always  the  trap,  but  this  time  she  said, 
in  a  very  particular  ladylike  tone,  "  Roobert,  gaow  with 
the  pony-kerriage."  .  .  .  There,  'tis  true,  pony  and 
carriage  too  are  getten  rather  shabby  now,'  he  added, 
looking  round  upon  the  vehicle  as  if  to  keep  Cytherea's 
pride  within  reasonable  limits. 

71 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  'Tis  to  be  hoped  you'll  please  in  dressen  her  to- 
night.' 

*  Why  to-night  ?  ' 

♦  There's  a  dinner-party  of  seventeen ;  'tis  her  father's 
birthday,  and  she's  very  particular  about  her  looks  at 
such  times.  Now  see;  this  is  the  house.  Livelier  up 
here,  isn't  it,  miss  ? ' 

They  were  now  on  rising  ground,  and  had  just 
emerged  from  a  clump  of  trees.  Still  a  little  higher 
than  where  they  stood  was  situated  the  mansion,  called 
Knapwater  House,  the  offices  gradually  losing  them- 
selves among  the  trees  behind. 


2.  Evening 

The  house  was  regularly  and  substantially  built  of 
clean  grey  freestone  throughout,  in  that  plainer  fashion 
of  Greek  classicism  which  prevailed  at  the  latter  end  of 
the  last  century,  when  the  copyists  called  designers  had 
grown  weary  of  fantastic  variations  in  the  Roman  orders. 
The  main  block  approximated  to  a  square  on  the  ground 
plan,  having  a  projection  in  the  centre  of  each  side, 
surmounted  by  a  pediment.  From  each  angle  of  the 
inferior  side  ran  a  line  of  buildings  lower  than  the  rest, 
turning  inwards  again  at  their  further  end,  and  forming 
within  them  a  spacious  open  court,  within  which  re- 
sounded an  echo  of  astonishing  clearness.  These  erec- 
tions were  in  their  turn  backed  by  ivy-covered  ice-houses, 
laundries,  and  stables,  the  whole  mass  of  subsidiary 
buildings  being  half  buried  beneath  close-set  shrubs  and 
trees. 

There  was  opening  sufficient  through  the  foliage  on 
the  right  hand  to  enable  her  on  nearer  approach  to  form 
an  idea  of  the  arrangement  of  the  remoter  or  lawn 
front  also.  The  natural  features  and  contour  of  this 
quarter  of  the  site  had  evidently  dictated  the  position 

72 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

of  the  house  primarily,  and  were  of  the  ordinary,  and 
upon  the  whole,  most  satisfactory  kind,  namely,  a  broad, 
graceful  slope  running  from  the  terrace  beneath  the  walls 
to  the  margin  of  a  placid  lake  lying  below,  upon  the 
surface  of  which  a  dozen  swans  and  a  green  punt  floated 
at  leisure.  An  irregular  wooded  island  stood  in  the 
midst  of  the  lake ;  beyond  this  and  the  further  margin 
of  the  water  were  plantations  and  greensward  of  varied 
outlines,  the  trees  heightening,  by  half  veiling,  the  soft- 
ness of  the  exquisite  landscape  stretching  behind. 

The  glimpses  she  had  obtained  of  this  portion  were 
now  checked  by  the  angle  of  the  building.  In  a  minute 
or  two  they  reached  the  side  door,  at  which  Cytherea 
alighted.  She  was  welcomed  by  an  elderly  woman  of 
lengthy  smiles  and  general  pleasantness,  who  announced 
herself  to  be  Mrs.  Morris,  the  housekeeper. 

'  Mrs.  Graye,  I  believe  ? '  she  said. 

'  I  am  not — O  yes,  yes,  we  are  all  mistresses,'  said 
Cytherea,  smiling,  but  forcedly.  The  title  accorded  her 
seemed  disagreeably  like  the  first  slight  scar  of  a  brand, 
and  she  thought  of  Owen's  prophecy. 

Mrs.  Morris  led  her  into  a  comfortable  parlour  called 
The  Room.  Here  tea  was  made  ready,  and  Cytherea 
sat  down,  looking,  whenever  occasion  allowed,  at  Mrs. 
Morris  with  great  interest  and  curiosity,  to  discover,  if 
possible,  something  in  her  which  should  give  a  clue  to 
the  secret  of  her  knowledge  of  herself,  and  the  recommen- 
dation based  upon  it.  But  nothing  was  to  be  learnt,  at 
any  rate  just  then.  Mrs.  Morris  was  perpetually  getting 
up,  feeling  in  her  pockets,  going  to  cupboards,  leaving 
the  room  two  or  three  minutes,  and  trotting  back  again. 

'  You'll  excuse  me,  Mrs.  Graye,'  she  said,  '  but  'tis 
the  old  gentleman's  birthday,  and  they  always  have  a 
lot  of  people  to  dinner  on  that  day,  though  he's  getting 
up  in  years  now.  However,  none  of  them  are  sleepers 
— she  generally  keeps  the  house  pretty  clear  of  lodgers 
(being  a  lady  with  no  intimate  friends,  though  many 

7i 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

acquaintances),  which,  though  it  gives  us  less  to  do, 
makes  it  all  the  duller  for  the  younger-  maids  in  the 
house.'  Mrs.  Morris  then  proceeded  to  give  in  frag- 
mentary speeches  an  outline  of  the  constitution  and 
government  of  the  estate. 

'  Now,  are  you  sure  you  have  quite  done  tea  ?  Not 
a  bit  or  drop  more?  Why,  you've  eaten  nothing,  I'm 
sure.  .  .  .  Well,  now,  it  is  rather  inconvenient  that 
the  other  maid  is  not  here  to  show  you  the  ways  of 
the  house  a  little,  but  she  left  last  Saturday,  and  Miss 
Aldclyffe  has  been  making  shift  with  poor  old  clumsy 
me  for  a  maid  all  yesterday  and  this  morning.  She  is 
not  come  in  yet.  I  expect  she  will  ask  for  you,  Mrs. 
Graye,  the  first  thing.  ...  I  was  going  to  say  that  if 
you  have  really  done  tea,  I  will  take  you  upstairs,  and 
show  you  through  the  wardrobes  —  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
things  are  not  laid  out  for  to-night  yet.' 

She  preceded  Cytherea  upstairs,  pointed  out  her 
own  room,  and  then  took  her  into  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
dressing-room,  on  the  first-floor;  where,  after  explain- 
ing the  whereabouts  of  various  articles  of  apparel,  the 
housekeeper  left  her,  telling  her  that  she  had  an  hour 
yet  upon  her  hands  before  dressing-time.  Cytherea  laid 
out  upon  the  bed  in  the  next  room  all  that  she  had 
been  told  would  be  required  that  evening,  and  then 
went  again  to  the  little  room  which  had  been  appro- 
priated to  herself. 

Here  she  sat  down  by  the  open  window,  leant  out 
upon  the  sill  like  another  Blessed  Damozel,  and  list- 
lessly looked  down  upon  the  brilliant  pattern  of  colours 
formed  by  the  flower-beds  on  the  lawn — now  richly 
crowded  with  late  summer  blossom.  But  the  vivacity 
of  spirit  which  had  hitherto  enlivened  her,  was  fast 
ebbing  under  the  pressure  of  prosaic  realities,  and  the 
warm  scarlet  of  the  geraniums,  glowing  most  conspicu- 
ously, and  mingling  with  the  vivid  cold  red  and  green 
of  the  verbenas,  the  rich  depth  of  the  dahlia,  and  the 

74 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

ripe  mellowness  of  the  calceolaria,  backed  by  the  pale 
hue  of  a  flock  of  meek  sheep  feeding  in  the  open  park, 
close  to  the  other  side  of  the  fence,  were,  to  a  great 
extent,  lost  upon  her  eyes.  She  was  thinking  that 
nothing  seemed  worth  while ;  that  it  was  possible  she 
might  die  in  a  workhouse;  and  what  did  it  matter? 
The  petty,  vulgar  details  of  servitude  that  she  had  just 
passed  through,  her  dependence  upon  the  whims  of  a 
strange  woman,  the  necessity  of  quenching  all  individu- 
ality of  character  in  herself,  and  relinquishing  her  own 
peculiar  tastes  to  help  on  the  wheel  of  this  alien  establish- 
ment, made  her  sick  and  sad,  and  she  almost  longed  to 
pursue  some  free,  out-of-doors  employment,  sleep  under 
trees  or  a  hut,  and  know  no  enemy  but  winter  and  cold 
weather,  like  shepherds  and  cowkeepers,  and  birds  and 
animals — ay,  like  the  sheep  she  saw  there  under  her 
window.  She  looked  sympathizingly  at  them  for  several 
minutes,  imagining  their  enjoyment  of  the  rich  grass. 

'  Yes — like  those  sheep,'  she  said  aloud ;  and  her 
face  reddened  with  surprise  at  a  discovery  she  made 
that  very  instant. 

The  flock  consisted  of  some  ninety  or  a  hundred 
young  stock  ewes :  the  surface  of  their  fleece  was  as 
rounded  and  even  as  a  cushion,  and  white  as  milk. 
Now  she  had  just  observed  that  on  the  left  buttock  of 
every  one  of  them  were  marked  in  distinct  red  letters 
the  initials  '  E.  S.' 

*  E.  S.'  could  bring  to  Cytherea's  mind  only  one 
thought ;  but  that  immediately  and  for  ever — the  name 
of  her  lover,  Edward  Springrove. 

*  O,   if  it    should    be ! '      She    interrupted   her 

words  by  a  resolve.  Miss  Aldclyffe's  carriage  at  the 
same  moment  made  its  appearance  in  the  drive;  but 
Miss  Aldclyffe  was  not  her  object  now.  It  was  to 
ascertain  to  whom  the  sheep  belonged,  and  to  set  her 
surmise  at  rest  one  way  or  the  other.  She  flew  down- 
stairs to  Mrs.  Morris. 

75 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'Whose  sheep  are  those  in  the  park,  Mrs.  Morris?* 
'  Farmer  Springrove's.' 

*  What  Farmer  Springrove  is  that  ? '  she  said  quickly. 

*  Why,  surely  you  know  ?  Your  friend,  Farmer 
Springrove,  the  cider-maker,  and  who  keeps  the  Three 
Tranters  Inn ;  who  recommended  you  to  me  when  he 
came  in  to  see  me  the  other  day  ? ' 

Cytherea's  mother-wit  suddenly  warned  her  in  the 
midst  of  her  excitement  that  it  was  necessary  not  to  betray 
the  secret  of  her  love.  '  O  yes,'  she  said,  '  of  course.' 
Her  thoughts  had  run  as  follows  in  that  short  interval : — 

'  Farmer  Springrove  is  Edward's  father,  and  his  name 
is  Edward  too. 

'  Edward  knew  I  was  going  to  advertise  for  a  situa- 
tion of  some  kind. 

'  He  watched  the  Times,  and  saw  it,  my  address 
being  attached. 

'  He  thought  it  would  be  excellent  for  me  to  Ije  here 
that  we  might  meet  whenever  he  came  home. 

'  He  told  his  father  that  I  might  be  recommended 
as  a  lady's-maid ;  and  he  knew  my  brother  and  myself. 

'  His  father  told  Mrs.  Morris ;  Mrs.  Morris  told  Miss 
Aldclyffe.' 

The  whole  chain  of  incidents  that  drew  her  there 
was  plain,  and  there  was  no  such  thing  as  chance  in  the 
matter.     It  was  all  Edward's  doing. 

The  sound  of  a  bell  was  heard.  Cytherea  did  not 
heed  it,  and  still  continued  in  her  reverie. 

'  That's  Miss  Aldclyffe's  bell,'  said  Mrs.  Morris. 

'  I  suppose  it  is,'  said  the  young  woman  placidly. 

'  Well,  it  means  that  you  must  go  up  to  her,'  the 
matron  continued,  in  a  tone  of  surprise. 

Cytherea  felt  a  burning  heat  come  over  her,  mingled 
with  a  sudden  irritation  at  Mrs.  Morris's  hint.  But  the 
good  sense  which  had  recognized  stern  necessity  pre- 
vailed over  rebellious  independence;  the  flush  passed, 
and  she  said  hastily-^ 

76 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Yes,  yes ;  of  course,  I  must  go  to  her  when  she 
pulls  the  bell — whether  I  want  to  or  no.' 

However,  in  spite  of  this  painful  reminder  of  her 
new  position  in  life,  Cytherea  left  the  apartment  in  a 
mood  far  different  from  the  gloomy  sadness  of  ten 
minutes  previous.  The  place  felt  like  home  to  her 
now ;  she  did  not  mind  the  pettiness  of  her  occupation, 
because  Edward  evidently  did  not  mind  it ;  and  this 
was  Edward's  own  spot.  She  found  time  on  her  way 
to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room  to  hurriedly  glide  out 
by  a  side  door,  and  look  for  a  moment  at  the  uncon- 
scious sheep  bearing  the  friendly  initials.  She  went  up 
to  them  to  try  to  touch  one  of  the  flock,  and  felt  vexed 
that  they  all  stared  sceptically  at  her  kind  advances,  and 
then  ran  pell-mell  down  the  hill.  Then,  fearing  any  one 
should  discover  her  childish  movements,  she  slipped 
indoors  again,  and  ascended  the  staircase,  catching 
glimpses,  as  she  passed,  of  silver-buttoned  footmen,  who 
flashed  about  the  passages  like  lightning. 

Miss    Aldclyffe's   dressing-room    was    an    apartment 
which,  on  a  casual  survey,  conveyed  an  impression  that 
it  was  available  for  almost  any  purpose  save  the  adorn- 
ment of  the  feminine  person.     In  its  hours  of  perfect    ,' 
order  nothing  pertaining  to  the  toilet  was  visible ;  even    I 
the  inevitable  mirrors  with  their  accessories  were  arranged   / 
in  a  roomy  recess  not  noticeable  from  the  door,  lighted 
by  a  window  of  its  own,  called  the  dressing-window. 

The  washing-stand  figured  as  a  vast  oak  chest,  carved 
with  grotesque  Renaissance  ornament.  The  dressing- 
table  was  in  appearance  something  between  a  high  altar 
and  a  cabinet  piano,  the  surface  being  richly  worked  in 
the  same  style  of  semi-classic  decoration,  but  the  extra- 
ordinary outline  having  been  arrived  at  by  an  ingenious 
joiner  and  decorator  from  the  neighbouring  town,  after 
months  of  painful  toil  in  cutting  and  fitting,  under  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  immediate  eye ;  the  materials  being  the  re- 
mains of  two  or  three  old  cabinets  the  lady  had  found 

77 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

in  the  lumber-room.  About  two-thirds  of  the  floor  was 
carpeted,  the  remaining  portion  being  laid  with  parquetry 
of  light  and  dark  woods. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  standing  at  the  larger  window, 
away  from  the  dressing-niche.  She  bowed,  and  said 
pleasantly,  '  I  am  glad  you  have  come.  We  shall  get  on 
capitally,  I  dare  say.' 

Her  bonnet  was  off.  Cytherea  did  not  think  her  so 
handsome  as  on  the  earlier  day ;  the  queenliness  of  her 
beauty  was  harder  and  less  warm.  But  a  worse  dis- 
covery than  this  was  that  Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  the  usual 
obliviousness  of  rich  people  to  their  dependents'  speciali- 
ties, seemed  to  have  quite  forgotten  Cytherea's  inexperi- 
ence, and  mechanically  delivered  up  her  body  to  her 
handmaid  without  a  thought  of  details,  and  with  a  mild 
yawn. 

Everything  went  well  at  first.  The  dress  was  re- 
moved, stockings  and  black  boots  were  taken  off,  and 
silk  stockings  and  white  shoes  were  put  on.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  then  retired  to  bathe  her  hands  and  face,  and 
Cytherea  drew  breath.  If  she  could  get  through  this 
first  evening,  all  would  be  right.  She  felt  that  it  was 
unfortunate  that  such  a  crucial  test  for  her  powers  as 
a  birthday  dinner  should  have  been  applied  on  the 
threshold  of  her  arrival ;  but  set  to  again. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  now  arrayed  in  a  white  dressing- 
grown,  and  dropped  languidly  into  an  easy-chair,  pushed 
up  before  the  glass.  The  instincts  of  her  sex  and  her 
own  practice  told  Cytherea  the  next  movement.  She 
let  Miss  Aldclyffe's  hair  fall  about  her  shoulders,  and 
began  to  arrange  it.  It  proved  to  be  all  real;  a 
satisfaction. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  musingly  looking  on  the  floor, 
and  the  operation  went  on  for  some  minutes  in  silence. 
At  length  her  thoughts  seemed  to  turn  to  the  present, 
and  she  lifted  her  eyes  to  the  glass. 

'  Why,  what  on  earth  are  you  doing  with  my  head  ? ' 
78 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

she  exclaimed,  with  widely  opened  eyes.  At  the  words 
she  felt  the  back  of  Cytherea's  little  hand  tremble 
against  her  neck. 

'  Perhaps  you  prefer  it  done  the  other  fashion, 
madam  ?  '  said  the  maiden. 

*  No,  no ;  that's  the  fashion  right  enough,  but  you 
must  make  more  show  of  my  hair  than  that,  or  I  shall 
have  to  buy  some,  which  God  forbid  ! ' 

'  It  is  how  I  do  my  own,'  said  Cytherea  naively,  and 
with  a  sweetness  of  tone  that  would  have  pleased  the 
most  acrimonious  under  favourable  circumstances ;  but 
tyranny  was  in  the  ascendant  with  Miss  Aldclyffe  at 
this  moment,  and  she  was  assured  of  palatable  food  for 
her  vice  by  having  felt  the  trembling  of  Cytherea's  hand, 

'  Yours,  indeed  !  Your  hair  !  Come,  go  on.'  Con- 
sidering that  Cytherea  possessed  at  least  live  times  as 
much  of  that  valuable  auxiliary  to  woman's  beauty  as 
the  lady  before  her,  there  was  at  the  same  time  some 
excuse  for  Miss  Aldclyffe's  outburst.  She  remembered 
herself,  however,  and  said  more  quietly,  '  Now  then, 
Graye By-the-bye,  what  do  they  call  you  down- 
stairs ? ' 

'  Mrs.  Graye,'  said  the  handmaid. 

•Then  tell  them  not  to  do  any  such  absurd  thing — 
not  but  that  it  is  quite  according  to  usage ;  but  you  are 
too  young  yet.' 

This  dialogue  tided  Cytherea  safely  onward  through 
the  hairdressing  till  the  flowers  and  diamonds  were  to 
be  placed  upon  the  lady's  brow.  Cytherea  began 
arranging  them  tastefully,  and  to  the  very  best  of  her 
judgment. 

'  That  won't  do,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe  harshly. 

'Why?' 

'  I  look  too  young — an  old  dressed  dolL' 

'  Will  that,  madam  ?  ' 

'  No,  I  look  a  fright — a  perfect  fright ! ' 

♦  This  way,  perhaps  ? ' 

79 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Heavens  !  Don't  worry  me  so.'  She  shut  her  lips 
like  a  trap. 

Having  once  worked  herself  up  to  the  belief  that  her 
head-dress  was  to  be  a  failure  that  evening,  no  clever- 
ness of  Cytherea's  in  arranging  it  could  please  her.  She 
continued  in  a  smouldering  passion  during  the  remainder 
of  the  performance,  keeping  her  lips  firmly  closed,  and 
the  muscles  of  her  body  rigid.  Finally,  snatching  up 
her  gloves,  and  taking  her  handkerchief  and  fan  in 
her  hand,  she  silently  sailed  out  of  the  room,  without 
betraying  the  least  consciousness  of  another  woman's 
presence  behind  her. 

Cytherea's  fears  that  at  the  undressing  this  sup- 
pressed anger  would  find  a  vent,  kept  her  on  thorns 
throughout  the  evening.  She  tried  to  read ;  she  could 
not.  She  tried  to  sew ;  she  could  not.  She  tried  to 
muse ;  she  could  not  do  that  connectedly.  '  If  this  is  the 
beginning,  what  will  the  end  be ! '  she  said  in  a  whisper, 
and  felt  many  misgivings  as  to  the  policy  of  being  over- 
hasty  in  establishing  an  independence  at  the  expense  of 
congruity  with  a  cherished  past. 


3.  Midnight 

The  clock  struck  twelve.  The  Aldclyffe  state  dinner 
was  over.  The  company  had  all  gone,  and  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  bell  rang  loudly  and  jerkingly. 

Cytherea  started  to  her  feet  at  the  sound,  which 
broke  in  upon  a  fitful  sleep  that  had  overtaken  her. 
She  had  been  sitting  drearily  in  her  chair  waiting  minute 
after  minute  for  the  signal,  her  brain  in  that  state  of 
intentness  which  takes  cognizance  of  the  passage  of 
Time  as  a  real  motion — motion  without  matter — the 
instants  throbbing  past  in  the  company  of  a  feverish 
pulse.  She  hastened  to  the  room,  to  find  the  lady 
sitting  before  the  dressing  shrine,  illuminated  on  both 

80 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

sides,  and  looking  so  queenly  in  her  attitude  of  absolute 
repose,  that  the  younger  woman  felt  the  awfuUest  sense 
of  responsibility  at  her  Vandalism  in  having  undertaken 
to  demolish  so  imposing  a  pile. 

The  lady's  jewelled  ornaments  were  taken  off  in 
silence — some  by  her  own  listless  hands,  some  by 
Cytherea's.  Then  followed  the  outer  stratum  of  clothing. 
The  dress  being  removed,  Cytherea  took  it  in  her  hand 
and  went  with  it  into  the  bedroom  adjoining,  intending 
to  hang  it  in  the  wardrobe.  But  on  second  thoughts, 
in  order  that  she  might  not  keep  Miss  Aldclyffe  waiting 
a  moment  longer  than  necessary,  she  flung  it  down  on 
the  first  resting-place  that  came  to  hand,  which  happened 
to  be  the  bed,  and  re-entered  the  dressing-room  with  the 
noiseless  footfall  of  a  kitten.  She  paused  in  the  middle 
of  the  room. 

She  was  unnoticed,  and  her  sudden  return  had 
plainly  not  been  expected.  During  the  short  time  of 
Cytherea's  absence.  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  pulled  off  a 
kind  of  chemisette  of  Brussels  net,  drawn  high  above 
the  throat,  which  she  had  worn  with  her  evening  dress 
as  a  semi-opaque  covering  to  her  shoulders,  and  in  its 
place  had  put  her  night-gown  round  her.  Her  right 
hand  was  lifted  to  her  neck,  as  if  engaged  in  fastening 
her  night-gown. 

But  on  a  second  glance  Miss  Aldclyffc's  proceeding 
was  clearer  to  Cytherea.  She  was  not  fastening  her 
night-gown  ;  it  had  been  carelessly  thrown  round  her,  and 
Miss  Aldclyffe  was  really  occupied  in  holding  up  to  her 
eyes  some  small  object  that  she  was  keenly  scrutiniz- 
ing. And  now  on  suddenly  discovering  the  presence 
of  Cytherea  at  the  back  of  the  apartment,  instead  of 
naturally  continuing  or  concluding  her  inspection,  she 
desisted  hurriedly ;  the  tiny  snap  of  a  spring  was  heard, 
her  hand  was  removed,  and  she  began  adjusting  her 
robes. 

Modesty   might  have  directed  her   hasty  action  of 
8i  F 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

enwrapping  her  shoulders,  but  it  was  scarcely  likely, 
considering  Miss  Aldclyffe's  temperament,  that  she  had 
all  her  life  been  used  to  a  maid,  Cytherea's  youth,  and 
the  elder  lady's  marked  treatment  of  her  as  if  she  were 
a  mere  child  or  plaything.  The  matter  was  too  slight 
to  reason  about,  and  yet  upon  the  whole  it  seemed  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  must  have  a  practical  reason  for  conceal- 
ing her  neck. 

With  a  timid  sense  of  being  an  intruder  Cytherea 
was  about  to  step  back  and  out  of  the  room ;  but  at 
the  same  moment  Miss  Aldclyffe  turned,  saw  the  impulse, 
and  told  her  companion  to  stay,  looking  into  her  eyes 
as  if  she  had  half  an  intention  to  explain  something. 
Cytherea  felt  certain  it  was  the  little  mystery  of  her  late 
movements.  The  other  withdrew  her  eyes ;  Cytherea 
went  to  fetch  the  dressing-gown,  and  wheeled  round 
again  to  bring  it  up  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  who  had  now 
partly  removed  her  night-dress  to  put  it  on  the  proper 
way,  and  still  sat  with  her  back  towards  Cytherea. 

Her  neck  was  again  quite  open  and  uncovered,  and 
though  hidden  from  the  direct  line  of  Cytherea's  vision, 
she  saw  it  reflected  in  the  glass — the  fair  white  surface, 
and  the  inimitable  combination  of  curves  between  throat 
and  bosom  which  artists  adore,  being  brightly  lit  up  by 
the  light  burning  on  either  side. 

And  the  lady's  prior  proceedings  were  now  explained 
in  the  simplest  manner.  In  the  midst  of  her  breast,  like 
an  island  in  a  sea  of  pearl,  reclined  an  exquisite  little  gold 
locket,  embellished  with  arabesque  work  of  blue,  red, 
and  white  enamel.  That  was  undoubtedly  what  Miss 
Aldclyffe  had  been  contemplating ;  and,  moreover,  not 
having  been  put  off  with  her  other  ornaments,  it  was  to 
be  retained  during  the  night — a  slight  departure  from 
the  custom  of  ladies  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  at  first 
not  cared  to  exhibit  to  her  new  assistant,  though  now, 
on  further  thought,  she  seemed  to  have  become  indif- 
ferent on  the  matter. 

82 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*My  dressing-gown,'  she  said,  quietly  fastening  her 
night-dress  as  she  spoke. 

Cytherea  came  forward  with  it.  Miss  Aldclyfife  did 
not  turn  her  head,  but  looked  inquiringly  at  her  maid  in 
the  glass. 

'  You  saw  what  I  wear  on  my  neck,  I  suppose  ? '  she 
said  to  Cytherea's  reflected  face. 

'  Yes,  madam,  I  did,'  said  Cytherea  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
reflected  face. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  again  looked  at  Cytherea's  reflection 
as  if  she  were  on  the  point  of  explaining.  Again  she 
checked  her  resolve,  and  said  lightly — 

'  Few  of  my  maids  discover  that  I  wear  it  always.  I 
generally  keep  it  a  secret — not  that  it  matters  much. 
But  I  was  careless  with  you,  and  seemed  to  want  to  tell 
you.     You  win  me  to  make  confidences  that  .  .  .' 

She  ceased,  took  Cytherea's  hand  in  her  own,  Hfted 
the  locket  with  the  other,  touched  the  spring  and  dis- 
closed a  miniature. 

'It  is  a  handsome  face,  is  it  not ? '  she  whispered 
mournfully,  and  even  timidly. 

'It  is.' 

But  the  sight  had  gone  through  Cytherea  like  an 
electric  shock,  and  there  was  an  instantaneous  awakening 
of  perception  in  her,  so  thrilling  in  its  presence  as  to  be 
well-nigh  insupportable.  The  face  in  the  miniature  was 
the  face  of  her  own  father — younger  and  fresher  than 
she  had  ever  known  him — but  her  father ! 

Was  this  the  woman  of  his  wild  and  unquenchable 
early  love?  And  was  this  the  woman  who  had  figured 
in  the  gate-man's  story  as  answering  the  name  of  Cytherea 
before  her  judgment  was  awake  ?  Surely  it  was.  And 
if  so,  here  was  the  tangible  outcrop  of  a  romantic  and 
hidden  stratum  of  the  past  hitherto  seen  only  in  her 
imagination  ;  but  as  far  as  her  scope  allowed,  clearly 
defined  therein  by  reason  of  its  strangeness. 

Miss  Aldclyfie's  eyes  and  thoughts  were  so  intent 
83 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

upon  the  miniature  that  she  had  not  been  conscious  of 
Cytherea's  start  of  surprise.  She  went  on  speaking  in  a 
low  and  abstracted  tone. 

'  Yes,  I  lost  him.'  She  interrupted  her  words  by  a 
short  meditation,  and  went  on  again.  '  I  lost  him  by 
excess  of  honesty  as  regarded  my  past.  But  it  was  best 
that  it  should  be  so.  ...  I  was  led  to  think  rather 
more  than  usual  of  the  circumstances  to-night  because 
of  your  name.  It  is  pronounced  the  same  way,  though 
differently  spelt.' 

The  only  means  by  which  Cytherea's  surname  could 
have  been  spelt  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  must  have  been  by 
Mrs.  Morris  or  Farmer  Springrove.  She  fancied  Farmer 
Springrove  would  have  spelt  it  properly  if  Edward 
was  his  informant,  which  made  Miss  Aldclyffe's  remark 
obscure. 

Women  make  confidences  and  then  regret  them. 
The  impulsive  rush  of  feeling  which  had  led  Miss 
Aldclyffe  to  indulge  in  this  revelation,  trifling  as  it  was, 
died  out  immediately  her  words  were  beyond  recall ; 
and  the  turmoil,  occasioned  in  her  by  dwelling  upon 
that  chapter  of  her  life,  found  vent  in  another  kind  of 
emotion — the  result  of  a  trivial  accident. 

Cytherea,  after  letting  down  Miss  Aldclyffe's  hair, 
adopted  some  plan  with  it  to  which  the  lady  had  not  been 
accustomed.  A  rapid  revulsion  to  irritation  ensued. 
The  maiden's  mere  touch  seemed  to  discharge  the  pent-up 
regret  of  the  lady  as  if  she  had  been  a  jar  of  electricity. 

*  How  strangely  you  treat  my  hair  ! '  she  exclaimed. 
A  silence. 

•  I  have  told  you  what  I  never  tell  my  maids  as  a 
rule;  of  course  nothing  that  I  say  in  this  room  is  to 
be  mentioned  outside  it.'  She  spoke  crossly  no  less 
than  emphatically. 

'  It  shall  not  be,  madam,'  said  Cytherea,  agitated  and 
vexed  that  the  woman  of  her  romantic  wonderings  should 
be  so  disagreeable  to  her. 

84 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

•  Why  on  earth  did  I  tell  you  of  my  past  ? '  she 
went  on. 

Cytherea  made  no  answer. 

The  lady's  vexation  with  herself,  and  the  accident 
which  had  led  to  the  disclosure  swelled  little  by  little 
till  it  knew  no  bounds.  But  what  was  done  could  not 
be  undone,  and  though  Cytherea  had  shown  a  most 
winning  responsiveness,  quarrel  Miss  Aldclyffe  must. 
She  recurred  to  the  subject  of  Cytherea's  want  of  expert- 
ness,  like  a  bitter  reviewer,  who  finding  the  sentiments 
of  a  poet  unimpeachable,  quarrels  with  his  rhymes. 

'  Never,  never  before  did  I  serve  myself  such  a  trick 
as  this  in  engaging  a  maid  ! '  She  waited  for  an  ex- 
postulation :  none  came.     Miss  Aldclyffe  tried  again. 

'The  idea  of  my  taking  a  girl  without  asking  her 
more  than  three  questions,  or  having  a  single  reference, 

all  because  of  her  good  1 ,  the  shape  of  her  face  and 

body  !  It  was  a  fool's  trick.  There,  I  am  served  right, 
quite  right — by  being  deceived  in  such  a  way.' 

'  I  didn't  deceive  you,'  said  Cytherea.  The  speech 
was  an  unfortunate  one,  and  was  the  very  *  fuel  to 
maintain  its  fires '  that  the  other's  petulance  desired. 

'  You  did,'  she  said  hotly. 

•  I  told  you  I  couldn't  promise  to  be  acquainted  with 
every  detail  of  routine  just  at  first.' 

'  Will  you  contradict  me  in  this  way !  You  are 
telling  untruths,  I  say.' 

Cytherea's  lip  quivered.  '  I  would  answer  the 
remark  if — if ' 

'  If  what  ? ' 

•  If  it  were  a  lady's  ! ' 

'  You  girl  of  impudence — what  do  you  say  ?  Leave 
the  room  this  instant,  I  tell  you.' 

'  And  I  tell  you  that  a  person  who  speaks  to  a  lady 
as  you  do  to  me,  is  no  lady  herself! ' 

'  To  a  lady  ?  A  lady's-maid  speaks  in  this  way.  The 
idea!' 

85 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Don't  "  lady's-maid  "  me :  nobody  is  my  mistress. 
I  won't  have  it ! ' 

*  Good  Heavens  ! ' 

*  I  wouldn't  have  come — no — I  wouldn't !  if  I  had 
known ! ' 

'  What  ? ' 

*  That  you  were  such  an  ill-tempered,  unjust  woman !  * 
'  Possest  beyond  the  Muse's  painting,'  Miss  Aldclyffe 

exclaimed — 

*  A  Woman,  am  I !  I'll  teach  you  if  I  am  a 
Woman ! '  and  lifted  her  hand  as  if  she  would  have 
liked  to  strike  her  companion.  This  stung  the  maiden 
into  absolute  defiance. 

*  I  dare  you  to  touch  me  ! '  she  cried.  '  Strike  me 
if  you  dare,  madam !  I  am  not  afraid  of  you — what 
do  you  mean  by  such  an  action  as  that  ? ' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  disconcerted  at  this  unexpected 
show  of  spirit,  and  ashamed  of  her  unladylike  impulse 
now  it  was  put  into  words.  She  sank  back  in  the  chair. 
'  I  was  not  going  to  strike  you — go  to  your  room — I 
beg  you  to  go  to  your  room ! '  she  repeated  in  a  husky 
whisper. 

Cytherea,  red  and  panting,  took  up  her  candlestick 
and  advanced  to  the  table  to  get  a  light.  As  she  stood 
close  to  them  the  rays  from  the  candles  struck  sharply 
on  her  face.  She  usually  bore  a  much  stronger  likeness 
to  her  mother  than  to  her  father,  but  now,  looking  with 
a  grave,  reckless,  and  angered  expression  of  counte- 
nance at  the  kindling  wick  as  she  held  it  slanting  into 
the  other  flame,  her  father's  features  were  distinct  in 
her.  It  was  the  first  time  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  seen  her 
in  a  passionate  mood,  and  wearing  that  expression 
which  was  invariably  its  concomitant.  It  was  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  turn  to  start  now ;  and  the  remark  she 
made  was  an  instance  of  that  sudden  change  of  tone 
from  high-flown  invective  to  the  pettiness  of  curiosity 
which   so   often    makes    women's    quarrels   ridiculous. 

86 


.DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Even  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dignity  had  not  sufficient  power 
to  postpone  the  absorbing  desire  she  now  felt  to  settle 
the  strange  suspicion  that  had  entered  her  head. 

*  You  spell  your  name  the  common  way,  G,  R,  E,  Y, 
don't  you  ? '  she  said,  with  assumed  indifference. 

'  No,'  said  Cytherea,  poised  on  the  side  of  her  foot, 
and  still  looking  into  the  flame. 

'  Yes,  surely  ?  The  name  was  spelt  that  way  on  your 
boxes :  I  looked  and  saw  it  myself.' 

The  enigma  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mistake  was  solved. 
'  O,  was  it  ? '  said  Cytherea.  '  Ah,  I  remember  Mrs. 
Jackson,  the  lodging-house  keeper  at  Budmouth,  labelled 
them.     We  spell  our  name  G,  R,  A,  Y,  E.' 

'  What  was  your  father's  trade  ?  ' 

Cytherea  thought  it  would  be  useless  to  attempt  to 
conceal  facts  any  longer.  '  His  was  not  a  trade,'  she 
said.     '  He  was  an  architect.' 

*  The  idea  of  your  being  an  architect's  daughter ! ' 

*  There's  nothing  to  offend  you  in  that,  I  hope  ?  * 
'O  no.' 

'  Why  did  you  say  "  the  idea  "  ? ' 

'  Leave  that  alone.  Did  he  ever  visit  in  Gower 
Street,  Bloomsbury,  one  Christmas,  many  years  ago? — 
but  you  would  not  know  that.' 

'  I  have  heard  him  say  that  Mr.  Huntway,  a  curate 
somewhere  in  that  part  of  London,  and  who  died  there, 
was  an  old  college  friend  of  his.' 

*  What  is  your  Christian  name  ? ' 
'  Cytherea.' 

'  No !  And  is  it  really  ?  And  you  knew  that  face 
I  showed  you?  Yes,  I  see  you  did.'  Miss  Aldclyffe 
stopped,  and  closed  her  lips  impassibly.  She  was  a 
little  agitated. 

'  Do  you  want  me  any  longer  ? '  said  Cytherea, 
standing  candle  in  hand  and  looking  quietly  in  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  face. 

*  Well — no  :  no  longer,'  said  the  other  lingeringly. 

87 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'With  your  permission,  I  will  leave  the  house  to- 
morrow morning,  madam.' 

*Ah.'  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  no  notion  of  what  she 
was  saying. 

*  And  I  know  you  will  be  so  good  as  not  to  intrude 
upon  me  during  the  short  remainder  of  my  stay  ? ' 

Saying  this  Cytherea  left  the  room  before  her  com- 
panion had  answered.  Miss  Aldclyffe,  then,  had  re- 
cognized her  at  last,  and  had  been  curious  about  her 
name  from  the  beginning. 

The  other  members  of  the  household  had  retired 
to  rest.  As  Cytherea  went  along  the  passage  lead- 
ing to  her  room  her  skirts  rustled  against  the  parti- 
tion. A  door  on  her  left  opened,  and  Mrs.  Morris 
looked  out. 

*  I  waited  out  of  bed  till  you  came  up,'  she  said, 
'  it  being  your  first  night,  in  case  you  should  be  at 
a  loss  for  anything.  How  have  you  got  on  with  Miss 
Aldclyffe  ? ' 

'  Pretty  well — though  not  so  well  as  I  could  have 
wished.' 

'  Has  she  been  scolding  ?  ' 

« A  Httle.' 

'  She's  a  very  odd  lady — 'tis  all  one  way  or  the  other 
with  her.  She's  not  bad  at  heart,  but  unbearable  in 
close  quarters.  Those  of  us  who  don't  have  much  to 
do  with  her  personally,  stay  on  for  years  and  years.' 

'  Has  Miss  Aldclyffe's  family  always  been  rich  ? '  said 
Cytherea. 

*  O  no.  The  property,  with  the  name,  came  from 
her  mother's  uncle.  Her  family  is  a  branch  of  the  old 
Aldclyffe  family  on  the  maternal  side.  Her  mother 
married  a  Bradleigh — a  mere  nobody  at  that  time — and 
was  on  that  account  cut  by  her  relations.  But  very 
singularly  the  other  branch  of  the  family  died  out  one 
by  one — three  of  them,  and  Miss  Aldclyffe's  great-uncle 
then    left    all    his    property,    including    this    estate,    to 

88 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Captain  Bradleigh  and  his  wife — Miss  Aldclyffe's  father 
and  mother — on  condition  that  they  took  the  old  family 
name  as  well.  There's  all  about  it  in  the  Landed 
Gentry.     'Tis  a  thing  very  often  done.' 

'  O,  I  see.     Thank   you.     Well,  now   I  am  going. 
Good-night.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


VI 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

TWELVE  HOURS 

I.  August  the  Ninth.    One  to  Two  o'clock  a.m. 

v^YTHEREA  entered  her  bedroom,  and  flung  herself 
on  the  bed,  bewildered  by  a  whirl  of  thought.  Only 
one  subject  was  clear  in  her  mind,  and  it  was  that,  in 
spite  of  family  discoveries,  that  day  was  to  be  the  first 
and  last  of  her  experience  as  a  lady's-maid.  Starvation 
itself  should  not  compel  her  to  hold  such  a  humiliating 
post  for  another  instant.  '  Ah,'  she  thought,  with  a 
sigh,  at  the  martyrdom  of  her  last  little  fragment  of  self- 
conceit,  '  Owen  knows  everything  better  than  I.' 

She  jumped  up  and  began  making  ready  for  her 
departure  in  the  morning,  the  tears  streaming  down 
when  she  grieved  and  wondered  what  practical  matter 
on  earth  she  could  turn  her  hand  to  next.  All  these 
preparations  completed,  she  began  to  undress,  her  mind 
unconsciously  drifting  away  to  the  contemplation  of 
her  late  surprises.  To  look  in  the  glass  for  an  instant 
at  the  reflection  of  her  own  magnificent  resources  in 
face  and  bosom,  and  to  mark  their  attractiveness  un- 
adorned, was  perhaps  but  the  natural  action  of  a  young 
woman  who  had  so  lately  been  chidden  whilst  passing 

90 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

through  the  harassing  experience  of  decorating  an  older 
beauty  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  temper. 

But  she  directly  checked  her  weakness  by  sympathiz- 
ing reflections  on  the  hidden  troubles  which  must  have 
thronged  the  past  years  of  the  soUtary  lady,  to  keep  her, 
though  so  rich  and  courted,  in  a  mood  so  repellent  and 
gloomy  as  that  in  which  Cytherea  found  her ;  and  then 
the  young  girl  marvelled  again  and  again,  as  she  had 
marvelled  before,  at  the  strange  confluence  of  circum- 
stances which  had  brought  herself  into  contact  with  the 
one  woman  in  the  world  whose  history  was  so  romanti- 
cally intertwined  with  her  own.  She  almost  began  to 
wish  she  were  not  obliged  to  go  away  and  leave  the 
lonely  being  to  loneliness  still. 

In  bed  and  in  the  dark.  Miss  Aldclyffe  haunted  her 
mind  more  persistently  than  ever.  Instead  of  sleeping, 
she  called  up  staring  visions  of  the  possible  past  of  this 
queenly  lady,  her  mother's  rival.  Up  the  long  vista  of 
bygone  years  she  saw,  behind  all,  the  young  girl's  flirta- 
tion, little  or  much,  with  the  cousin,  that  seemed  to 
have  been  nipped  in  the  bud,  or  to  have  terminated 
hastily  in  some  way.  Then  the  secret  meetings  between 
Miss  Aldclyffe  and  the  other  woman  at  the  little  inn 
at  Hammersmith  and  other  places :  the  commonplace 
name  she  adopted :  her  swoon  at  some  painful  news, 
and  the  very  slight  knowledge  the  elder  female  had  of 
her  partner  in  mystery.  Then,  more  than  a  year  after- 
wards, the  acquaintanceship  of  her  own  father  with  this 
his  first  love ;  the  awakening  of  the  passion,  his  acts 
of  devotion,  the  unreasoning  heat  of  his  rapture,  her 
tacit  acceptance  of  it,  and  yet  her  uneasiness  under 
the  delight.  Then  his  declaration  amid  the  evergreens  : 
the  utter  change  produced  in  her  manner  thereby, 
seemingly  the  result  of  a  rigid  determination :  and  the 
total  concealment  of  her  reason  by  herself  and  her 
parents,  whatever  it  was.  Then  the  lady's  course 
dropped  into  darkness,  and  nothing  more  was  visible  till 

91 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

she  was  discovered  here  at  Knapwater,  nearly  fifty  years 
old,  still  unmarried  and  still  beautiful,  but  lonely, 
embittered,  and  haughty.  Cytherea  imagined  that  her 
father's  image  was  still  warmly  cherished  in  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  heart,  and  was  thankful  that  she  herself  had 
not  been  betrayed  into  announcing  that  she  knew  many 
particulars  of  this  page  of  her  father's  history,  and  the 
chief  one,  the  lady's  unaccountable  renunciation  of  him. 
It  would  have  made  her  bearing  towards  the  mistress  of 
the  mansion  more  awkward,  and  would  have  been  no 
benefit  to  either. 

Thus  conjuring  up  the  past,  and  theorizing  on  the 
present,  she  lay  restless,  changing  her  posture  from  one 
side  to  the  other  and  back  again.  Finally,  when  court- 
ing sleep  with  all  her  art,  she  beard  a  clock  strike  two. 
A  minute  later,  and  she  fancied  she  could  distinguish  a 
soft  rustle  in  the  passage  outside  her  room. 

To  bury  her  head  in  the  sheets  was  her  first  impulse ; 
then  to  uncover  it,  raise  herself  on  her  elbow,  and  stretch 
her  eyes  wide  open  in  the  darkness  ;  her  lips  being  parted 
with  the  intentness  of  her  listening.  Whatever  the  noise 
was,  it  had  ceased  for  the  time. 

It  began  again  and  came  close  to  her  door,  lightly 
touching  the  panels.  Then  there  was  another  stillness ; 
Cytherea  made  a  movement  which  caused  a  faint  rustling 
of  the  bed-clothes. 

Before  she  had  time  to  think  another  thought  a  light 
tap  was  given.  Cytherea  breathed  :  the  person  outside 
was  evidently  bent  upon  finding  her  awake,  and  the 
rustle  she  had  made  had  encouraged  the  hope.  The 
maiden's  physical  condition  shifted  from  one  pole  to 
its  opposite.  The  cold  sweat  of  terror  forsook  her,  and 
modesty  took  the  alarm.  She  became  hot  and  red ; 
her  door  was  not  locked. 

A  distinct  woman's  whisper  came  to  her  through  the 
keyhole  :  '  Cytherea  ! ' 

Only  one  being  in  the  house  knew  her  Christian 
92 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

name,  and  that  was  Miss  Aldclyffe.  Cytherea  stepped 
out  of  bed,  went  to  the  door,  and  whispered  back, 
'  Yes  ? '. 

'  Let  me  come  in,  darling.' 

The  young  woman  paused  in  a  conflict  between  judg- 
ment and  emotion.  It  was  now  mistress  and  maid  no 
longer;  woman  and  woman  only.  Yes;  she  must  let 
her  come  in,  poor  thing. 

She  got  a  light  in  an  instant,  opened  the  door,  and 
raising  her  eyes  and  the  candle,  saw  Miss  Aldclyffe 
standing  outside  in  her  dressing-gown. 

'  Now  you  see  that  it  is  really  myself;  put  out  the 
light,'  said  the  visitor.  '  I  want  to  stay  here  with  you, 
Cythie.  I  came  to  ask  you  to  come  down  into  my  bed, 
but  it  is  snugger  here.  But  remember  that  you  are 
mistress  in  this  room,  and  that  I  have  no  business  here, 
and  that  you  may  send  me  away  if  you  choose.  Shall 
I  go?' 

'  O  no;  you  shan't  indeed  if  you  don't  want  to,'  said 
Cythie  generously. 

The  instant  they  were  in  bed  Miss  Aldclyffe  freed 
herself  from  the  last  remnant  of  restraint.  She  flung 
her  arms  round  the  young  girl,  and  pressed  her  gently 
to  her  heart. 

'  Now  kiss  me,'  she  said. 

Cytherea,  upon  the  whole,  was  rather  discomposed 
at  this  change  of  treatment ;  and,  discomposed  or  no, 
her  passions  were  not  so  impetuous  as  Miss  Aldclyfie's. 
She  could  nor  bring  her  soul  to  her  lips  for  a  moment, 
try  how  she  would. 

'  Come,  kiss  me,'  repeated  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

Cytherea  gave  her  a  very  small  one,  as  soft  in  touch 
and  in  sound  as  the  bursting  of  a  bubble. 

'  More  earnestly  than  that — come.' 

She  gave  another,  a  little  but  not  much  more  ex- 
pressively. 

'  I  don't  deserve  a  more  feeling  one,  I  suppose,'  said 
93 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Miss  Aldclyffe,  with  an  emphasis  of  sad  bitterness  in 
her  tone.  '  I  am  an  ill-tempered  woman,  you  think ; 
half  out  of  my  mind.  Well,  perhaps  I  am  ;  but  I  have 
had  grief  more  than  you  can  think  or  dream  of.  But 
I  can't  help  loving  you — your  name  is  the  same  as 
mine — isn't  it  strange  ? ' 

Cytherea  was  inclined  to  say  no,  but  remained  silent. 

'  Now,  don't  you  think  I  must  love  you  ? '  continued 
the  other. 

'Yes,'  said  Cytherea  absently.  She  was  still  think- 
ing whether  duty  to  Owen  and  her  father,  which  asked 
for  silence  on  her  knowledge  of  her  father's  unfortunate 
love,  or  duty  to  the  woman  embracing  her,  which  seemed 
to  ask  for  confidence,  ought  to  predominate.  Here  was 
a  solution.  She  would  wait  till  Miss  Aldclyffe  referred 
to  her  acquaintanceship  and  attachment  to  Cytherea's 
father  in  past  times :  then  she  would  tell  her  all  she 
knew  :  that  would  be  honour. 

*  Why  can't  you  kiss  me  as  I  can  kiss  you  ?  Why 
can't  you ! '  She  impressed  upon  Cytherea's  lips  a 
warm  motherly  salute,  given  as  if  in  the  outburst  of 
strong  feeling,  long  checked,  and  yearning  for  something 
to  love  and  be  loved  by  in  return. 

*  Do  you  think  badly  of  me  for  my  behaviour  this 
evening,  child  ?  I  don't  know  why  I  am  so  foolish  as 
to  speak  to  you  in  this  way.  I  am  a  very  fool,  I  believe. 
Yes.     How  old  are  you  ?  ' 

*  Eighteen.' 

*  Eighteen !  .  .  .  Well,  why  don't  you  ask  me  how 
old  I  am  ? ' 

*  Because  I  don't  want  to  know.' 

*  Never  mind  if  you  don't.  I  am  forty-six ;  and  it 
gives  me  greater  pleasure  to  tell  you  this  than  it  does  to 
you  to  listen.  I  have  not  told  my  age  truly  for  the  last 
twenty  years  till  now.' 

'  Why  haven't  you  ? ' 

*  I  have  met  deceit  by  deceit,  till  I  am  weary  of  it — 

94 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


A 


weary,  weary — and  I  long  to  be  what  I  shall  never  be 
again — artless  and  innocent,  like  you.  But  I  suppose 
that  you,  too,  will  prove  to  be  not  worth  a  thought,  as 
every  new  friend  does  on  more  intimate  knowledge. 
Come,  why  don't  you  talk  to  me,  child?  Have  you 
said  your  prayers  ? ' 

« Yes — no !     I  forgot  them  to-night.' 

'  I  suppose  you  say  them  every  night  as  a  rule  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Why  do  you  do  that  ? ' 

*  Because  I  have  always  done  so,  and  it  would  seem 
strange  if  I  were  not  to.     Do  you  ? ' 

*  I  ?  A  wicked  old  sinner  like  me !  No,  I  never  do. 
I  have  thought  all  such  matters  humbug  for  years — 
thought  so  so  long  that  I  should  be  glad  to  think  other- 
wise from  very  weariness;  and  yet,  such  is  the  code  of 
the  polite  world,  that  I  subscribe  regularly  to  Missionary 
Societies  and  others  of  the  sort.  .  .  .  Well,  say  your 
prayers,  dear — you  won't  omit  them  now  you  recollect 
it.     I  should  like  to  hear  you  very  much.     Will  you  ?  ' 

'  It  seems  hardly ' 

*  It  would  seem  so  like  old  times  to  me — when  I  was 
young,  and  nearer — far  nearer  Heaven  than  I  am  now. 
Do,  sweet  one.' 

Cytherea  was  embarrassed,  and  her  embarrassment 
arose  from  the  following  conjuncture  of  affairs.  Since 
she  had  loved  Edward  Springrove,  she  had  linked  his 
name  with  her  brother  Owen's  in  her  nightly  supplica- 
tions to  the  Almighty.  She  wished  to  keep  her  love 
for  him  a  secret,  and,  above  all,  a  secret  from  a  woman 
like  Miss  Aldclyffe ;  yet  her  conscience  and  the  honesty 
of  her  love  would  not  for  an  instant  allow  her  to  think 
of  omitting  his  dear  name,  and  so  endanger  the  efficacy 
of  all  her  previous  prayers  for  his  success  by  an  unworthy 
shame  now :  it  would  be  wicked  of  her,  she  thought,  and 
a  grievous  wrong  to  him.  Under  any  worldly  circum- 
stances she  might  have  thought  the  position  justified  a 

95 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

little  finesse,  and  have  skipped  him  for  once ;  but  prayer 
was  too  solemn  a  thing  for  such  trifling. ' 

*  I  would  rather  not  say  them,'  she  murmured  first. 
It  struck  her  then  that  this  declining  altogether  was  the 
same  cowardice  in  another  dress,  and  was  delivering  her 
poor  Edward  over  to  Satan  just  as  unceremoniously  as 
before.  '  Yes ;  I  will  say  my  prayers,  and  you  shall  hear 
me,'  she  added  firmly. 

She  turned  her  face  to  the  pillow  and  repeated  in  low 
soft  tones  the  simple  words  she  had  used  from  child- 
hood on  such  occasions.  Owen's  name  was  mentioned 
without  faltering,  but  in  the  other  case,  maidenly  shyness 
was  too  strong  even  for  religion,  and  that  when  sup- 
ported by  excellent  intentions.  At  the  name  of  Edward 
she  stammered,  and  her  voice  sank  to  the  faintest  whisper 
in  spite  of  her. 

'  Thank  you,  dearest,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  *  I  have 
prayed  too,  I  verily  believe.  You  are  a  good  girl,  I  think.' 
Then  the  expected  question  came. 

'  "  Bless  Owen,"  and  whom,  did  you  say  ?  ' 

There  was  no  help  for  it  now,  and  out  it  came.  'Owen 
and  Edward,'  said  Cytherea. 

'  Who  are  Owen  and  Edward  ? ' 

*  Owen  is  my  brother,  madam,'  faltered  the  maid. 
'  Ah,  I  remember.     Who  is  Edward  ? ' 

A  silence. 

*  Your  brother,  too  ?  '  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe. 
«No.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  reflected  a  moment.  'Don't  you  want 
to  tell  me  who  Edward  is  ? '  she  said  at  last,  in  a  tone 
of  meaning. 

'  I  don't  mind  telling ;  only  .  .  .' 

*  You  would  rather  not,  I  suppose  ?  ' 
'  Yes.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  shifted  her  ground.  '  Were  you  ever 
in  love  ?  '  she  inquired  suddenly. 

Cytherea  was  surprised  to  hear  how  quickly  the  voice 
96 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

had  altered  from  tenderness  to  harshness,  vexation,  and 
disappointment. 

'  Yes — I  think  I  was — once,'  she  murmured. 

'  Aha  !     And  were  you  ever  kissed  by  a  man  ?  ' 

A  pause. 

'  Well,  were  you  ? '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  rather  sharply. 

'  Don't  press  me  to  tell — I  can't — indeed,  I  won't, 
madam  ! ' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  removed  her  arms  from  Cytherea's 
neck.  '  'Tis  now  with  you  as  it  is  always  with  all  girls,' 
she  said,  in  jealous  and  gloomy  accents.  '  You  are  not, 
after  all,  the  innocent  I  took  you  for.  No,  no.'  She 
then  changed  her  tone  with  fitful  rapidity.  '  Cytherea, 
try  to  love  me  more  than  you  love  him — do.  I  love  you 
more  sincerely  than  any  man  can.  Do,  Cythie :  don't 
let  any  man  stand  between  us.  O,  I  can't  bear  that ! ' 
She  clasped  Cytherea's  neck  again. 

'  I  must  love  him  now  I  have  begun,'  replied  the 
other. 

'  Must — yes — must,'  said  the  elder  lady  reproach- 
fully. '  Yes,  women  are  all  alike.  I  thought  I  had  at 
last  found  an  artless  woman  who  had  not  been  sullied 
by  a  man's  lips,  and  who  had  not  practised  or  been 
practised  upon  by  the  arts  which  ruin  all  the  truth  and 
sweetness  and  goodness  in  us.  Find  a  girl,  if  you  can, 
whose  mouth  and  ears  have  not  been  made  a  regular 
highway  of  by  some  man  or  another !  Leave  the 
admittedly  notorious  spots — the  drawing-rooms  of  society 
— and  look  in  the  villages — leave  the  villages  and  search 
in  the  schools — and  you  can  hardly  find  a  girl  whose 
heart  has  not  been  had — is  not  an  old  thing  half  worn 
out  by  some  He  or  another !  If  men  only  knew  the 
staleness  of  the  freshest  of  us  !  that  nine  times  out  of 
ten  the  "first  love"  they  think  they  are  winning  from  a 
woman  is  but  the  hulk  of  an  old  wrecked  affecdon,  fitted 
with  new  sails  and  re-used.  O  Cytherea,  can  it  be  that 
you,  too,  are  like  the  rest  ? ' 

97  G 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  No,  no,  no,'  urged  Cytherea,  awed  by  the  storm  she 
had  raised  in  the  impetuous  woman's  mind.  '  He  only 
kissed  me  once — twice  I  mean.' 

'  He  might  have  done  it  a  thousand  times  if  he  had 
cared  to,  there's  no  doubt  about  that,  whoever  his  lord- 
ship is.  You  are  as  bad  as  I — we  are  all  alike ;  and  I 
— an  old  fool — have  been  sipping  at  your  mouth  as  if 
it  were  honey,  because  I  fancied  no  wasting  lover  knew 
the  spot.  But  a  minute  ago,  and  you  seemed  to  me  like 
a  fresh  spring  meadow — now  you  seem  a  dusty  highway.' 

'  O  no,  no ! '  Cytherea  was  not  weak  enough  to  shed 
tears  except  on  extraordinary  occasions,  but  she  was  fain 
to  begin  sobbing  now.  She  wished  Miss  Aldclyfife  would 
go  to  her  own  room,  and  leave  her  and  her  treasured 
dreams  alone.  This  vehement  imperious  aifection  was  in 
one  sense  soothing,  but  yet  it  was  not  of  the  kind  that 
Cytherea's  instincts  desired.  Though  it  was  generous, 
it  seemed  somewhat  too  rank  and  capricious  for  en- 
durance. 

'  Well,'  said  the  lady  in  continuation,  '  who  is  he  ?  ' 

Her  companion  was  desperately  determined  not  to 
tell  his  name :  she  too  much  feared  a  taunt  when  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  fiery  mood  again  ruled  her  tongue. 

'  Won't  you  tell  me  ?  not  tell  me  after  all  the  affection 
I  have  shown  ?  ' 

'  I  will,  perhaps,  another  day.' 

'  Did  you  wear  a  hat  and  white  feather  in  Budmouth 
for  the  week  or  two  previous  to  your  coming  here  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Then  I  have  seen  you  and  your  lover  at  a  distance ! 
He  rowed  you  round  the  bay  with  your  brother.' 

« Yes.' 

*  And  without  your  brother  —  fie !  There,  there, 
don't  let  that  little  heart  beat  itself  to  death  :  throb, 
throb :  it  shakes  the  bed,  you  silly  thing.  I  didn't 
mean  that  there  was  any  harm  in  going  alone  with  him. 
I  only  saw  you  from  the  Esplanade,  in  common  with  the 

98 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

rest  of  the  people.    I  often  run  down  to  Budmouth.    He 
was  a  very  good  figure  :   now  who  was  he  ?  ' 

*  I — I  won't  tell,  madam — I  cannot  indeed  ! 

'  Won't  tell — very  well,  don't.  You  are  very  foolish 
to  treasure  up  his  name  and  image  as  you  do.  Why, 
he  has  had  loves  before  you,  trust  him  for  that,  whoever 
he  is,  and  you  are  but  a  temporary  link  in  a  long  chain 
of  others  like  you  :  who  only  have  your  little  day  as 
they  have  had  theirs.' 

'  'Tisn't  true  !  'tisn't  true  !  'tisn't  true  ! '  cried  Cytherea 
in  an  agony  of  torture.  '  He  has  never  loved  anybody 
else,  I  know — I  am  sure  he  hasn't.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  as  jealous  as  any  man  could  have 
been.     She  continued — 

*  He  sees  a  beautiful  face  and  thinks  he  will  never 
forget  it,  but  ,in  a  few  weeks  the  feeling  passes  off,  and 
he  wonders  how  he  could  have  cared  for  anybody  so 
absurdly  much.' 

'  No,  no,  he  doesn't — What  does  he  do  when  he  has 
thought  that — Come,  tell  me — tell  me  ! ' 

'  You  are  as  hot  as  fire,  and  the  throbbing  of  your 
heart  makes  me  nervous.  I  can't  tell  you  if  you  get  in 
that  flustered  state.' 

'  Do,  do  tell — O,  it  makes  me  so  miserable !  but 
tell — come  tell  me  ! ' 

'  Ah — the  tables  are  turned  now,  dear ! '  she  con- 
tinued, in  a  tone  which  mingled  pity  with  derision — 

•  "  Love's  passions  shall  rock  thee 

As  the  storm  rocks  the  ravens  on  high, 
Bright  reason  will  mock  thee 
Like  the  sun  from  a  wintry  sky." 

*  What  does  he  do  next  ? — Why,  this  is  what  he 
does  next :  ruminate  on  what  he  has  heard  of  women's 
romantic  impulses,  and  how  easily  men  torture  them 
when  they  have  given  way  to  those  feelings,  and  have 
resigned   everything  for   their   hero.       It   may  be   that 

99 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

though  he  loves  you  heartily  now — that  is,  as  heartily 
as  a  man  can — and  you  love  him  in  return,  your  loves 
may  be  impracticable  and  hopeless,  and  you  may  be 
separated  for  ever.  You,  as  the  v^^eary,  weary  years 
pass  by  will  fade  and  fade — bright  eyes  will  fade — and 
you  will  perhaps  then  die  early — true  to  him  to  your 
latest  breath,  and  believing  him  to  be  true  to  the  latest 
breath  also ;  whilst  he,  in  some  gay  and  busy  spot  far 
away  from  your  last  quiet  nook,  will  have  married  some 
dashing  lady,  and  not  purely  oblivious  of  you,  will  long 
have  ceased  to  regret  you — will  chat  about  you,  as  you 
were  in  long  past  years — will  say,  "  Ah,  little  Cytherea 
used  to  tie  her  hair  like  that — poor  innocent  trusting 
thing ;  it  was  a  pleasant  useless  idle  dream — that  dream 
of  mine  for  the  maid  with  the  bright  eyes  and  simple, 
silly  heart ;  but  I  was  a  foolish  lad  at  that  time."  Then 
he  will  tell  the  tale  of  all  your  little  Wills  and  Won'ts, 
and  particular  ways,  and  as  he  speaks,  turn  to  his  wife 
with  a  placid  smile.' 

'  It  is  not  true !  He  can't,  he  c-can't  be  s-so  cruel 
— and  you  are  cruel  to  me — you  are,  you  are ! '  She 
was  at  last  driven  to  desperation  :  her  natural  common 
sense  and  shrewdness  had  seen  all  through  the  piece 
how  imaginary  her  emotions  were — she  felt  herself  to  be 
weak  and  foolish  in  permitting  them  to  rise ;  but  even 
then  she  could  not  control  them  :  be  agonized  she  must. 
She  was  only  eighteen,  and  the  long  day's  labour,  her 
weariness,  her  excitement,  had  completely  unnerved  her, 
and  worn  her  out :  she  was  bent  hither  and  thither  by 
this  tyrannical  working  upon  her  imagination,  as  a  young 
rush  in  the  wind.     She  wept  bitterly. 

'  And  now  think  how  much  /  like  you,'  resumed 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  when  Cytherea  grew  calmer.  '  I  shall 
never  forget  you  for  anybody  else,  as  men  do — never. 
I  will  be  exactly  as  a  mother  to  you.  Now  will  you 
promise  to  live  with  me  always,  and  always  be  taken 
care  of,  and  never  deserted  ? ' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

*  I  cannot.  I  will  not  be  anybody's  maid  for  another 
day  on  any  consideration.' 

'  No,  no,  no.  You  shan't  be  a  lady's-maid.  You 
shall  be  my  companion.     I  will  get  another  maid.' 

Companion — that  was  a  new  idea.  Cytherea  could 
not  resist  the  evidently  heartfelt  desire  of  the  strange- 
tempered  woman  for  her  presence.  But  she  could  not 
trust  to  the  moment's  impulse. 

'  I  will  stay,  I  think.  But  do  not  ask  for  a  final 
answer  to-night.' 

'  Never  mind  now,  then.  Put  your  hair  round  your 
mamma's  neck,  and  give  me  one  good  long  kiss,  and 
I  won't  talk  any  more  in  that  way  about  your  lover. 
After  all,  some  young  men  are  not  so  fickle  as  others ; 
but  even  if  he's  the  ficklest,  there  is  consolation.  The 
love  of  an  inconstant  man  is  ten  times  more  ardent  than 
that  of  a  faithful  man — that  is,  while  it  lasts.' 

Cytherea  did  as  she  was  told,  to  escape  the  punish- 
ment of  further  talk;  flung  the  twining  tresses  of  her 
long,  rich  hair  over  Miss  Aldclyffe's  shoulders  as 
directed,  and  the  two  ceased  conversing,  making  them- 
selves up  for  sleep.  Miss  Aldclyffe  seemed  to  give 
herself  over  to  a  luxurious  sense  of  content  and  quiet, 
as  if  the  maiden  at  her  side  afforded  her  a  protection 
against  dangers  which  had  menaced  her  for  years ;  she 
was  soon  sleeping  calmly. 


2.  Two  TO  Five  a.m. 

With  Cytherea  it  was  otherwise.  Unused  to  the 
place  and  circumstances,  she  continued  wakeful,  ill  at 
ease,  and  mentally  distressed.  She  withdrew  herself 
from  her  companion's  embrace,  turned  to  the  other  side, 
and  endeavoured  to  relieve  her  busy  brain  by  looking  at 
the  window-blind,  and  noticing  the  light  of  the  rising 
moon — now  in  her  last  quarter — creep  round  upon  it  : 

H  lOI 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

it  was  the  light  of  an  old  waning  moon  which  had  but 
a  few  days  longer  to  live.  , 

The  sight  led  her  to  think  again  of  what  had  hap- 
pened under  the  rays  of  the  same  month's  moon,  a  little 
before  its  full,  the  ecstatic  evening  scene  with  Edward : 
the  kiss,  and  the  shortness  of  those  happy  moments — 
maiden  imagination  bringing  about  the  apotheosis  of  a 
status  quo  which  had  had  several  unpleasantnesses  in  its 
earthly  reality. 

But  sounds  were  in  the  ascendant  that  night.  Her 
ears  became  aware  of  a  strange  and  gloomy  murmur. 

She  recognized  it :  it  was  the  gushing  of  the  water- 
fall, faint  and  low,  brought  from  its  source  to  the  un- 
wonted distance  of  the  House  by  a  faint  breeze  which 
made  it  distinct  and  recognizable  by  reason  of  the  utter 
absence  of  all  disturbing  sounds.  The  groom's  melan- 
choly representation  lent  to  the  sound  a  more  dismal 
effect  than  it  would  have  had  of  its  own  nature.  She 
began  to  fancy  what  the  waterfall  must  be  like  at  that 
hour,  under  the  trees  in  the  ghostly  moonlight.  Black 
at  the  head,  and  over  the  surface  of  the  deep  cold  hole 
into  which  it  fell;  white  and  frothy  at  the  fall;  black 
and  white,  like  a  pall  and  its  border ;  sad  everywhere. 

She  was  in  the  mood  for  sounds  of  every  kind  now, 
and  strained  her  ears  to  catch  the  fliintest,  in  wayward 
enmity  to  her  quiet  of  mind.     Another  soon  came. 

The  second  was  quite  different  from  the  first — a 
kind  of  intermittent  whistle  it  seemed  primarily :  no,  a 
creak,  a  metallic  creak,  ever  and  anon,  like  a  plough,  or 
a  rusty  wheelbarrow,  or  at  least  a  wheel  of  some  kind. 
Yes,  it  was,  a  wheel — the  water-wheel  in  the  shrubbery 
by  the  old  manor-house,  which  the  coachman  had  said 
would  drive  him  mad. 

She  determined  not  to  think  any  more  of  these 
gloomy  things ;  but  now  that  she  had  once  noticed  the 
sound  there  was  no  sealing  her  ears  to  it.  She  could 
not    help   timing   its    creaks,   and  putting  on   a  dread 

I02 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

expectancy  just  before  the  end  of  each  half-minute  that 
brought  them.  To  imagine  the  inside  of  the  engine- 
house,  whence  these  noises  proceeded,  was  now  a 
necessity.  No  window,  but  crevices  in  the  door,  through 
which,  probably,  the  moonbeams  streamed  in  the  most 
attenuated  and  skeleton-like  rays,  striking  sharply  upon 
portions  of  wet  rusty  cranks  and  chains;  a  ghstening 
wheel,  turning  incessantly,  labouring  in  the  dark  like  a 
captive  starving  in  a  dungeon ;  and  instead  of  a  floor 
below,  gurgling  water,  which  on  account  of  the  darkness 
could  only  be  heard;  water  which  laboured  up  dark 
pipes  almost  to  where  she  lay. 

She  shivered.  Now  she  was  determined  to  go  to 
sleep ;  there  could  be  nothing  else  left  to  be  heard  or 
to  imagine — it  was  horrid  that  her  imagination  should 
be  so  restless.  Yet  just  for  an  instant  before  going  to 
sleep  she  would  think  this — suppose  another  sound 
should  come — just  suppose  it  should !  Before  the 
thought  had  well  passed  through  her  brain,  a  third 
sound  came. 

The  third  was  a  very  soft  gurgle  or  rattle — of  a 
strange  and  abnormal  kind — yet  a  sound  she  had  heard 
before  at  some  past  period  of  her  life — when,  she  could 
not  recollect.  To  make  it  the  more  disturbing,  it 
seemed  to  be  almost  close  to  her — either  close  outside 
the  window,  close  under  the  floor,  or  close  above  the 
ceiling.  The  accidental  fact  of  its  coming  so  imme- 
diately upon  the  heels  of  her  supposition,  told  so  power- 
fully upon  her  excited  nerves  that  she  jumped  up  in  the 
bed.  The  same  instant,  a  little  dog  in  some  room  near, 
having  probably  heard  the  same  noise,  set  up  a  low 
whine.  The  watch-dog  in  the  yard,  hearing  the  moan 
of  his  associate,  began  to  howl  loudly  and  distinctly. 
His  melancholy  notes  were  taken  up  directly  afterwards 
by  the  dogs  in  the  kennel  a  long  way  off,  in  every 
variety  of  wail. 

One  logical  thought  alone  was  able  to  enter  her 
103 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

flurried  brain.  The  little  dog  that  began  the  whining 
must  have  heard  the  other  two  sounds  even  better  than 
herself.  He  had  taken  no  notice  of  them,  but  he  had 
taken  notice  of  the  third.  The  third,  then,  was  an 
unusual  sound. 

It  was  not  like  water,  it  was  not  like  wind ;  it  was 
not  the  night-jar,  it  was  not  a  clock,  nor  a  rat,  nor  a 
person  snoring. 

She  crept  under  the  clothes,  and  flung  her  arms 
tightly  round  Miss  Aldclyffe,  as  if  for  protection. 
Cytherea  perceived  that  the  lady's  late  peaceful  warmth 
had  given  place  to  a  sweat.  At  the  maiden's  touch, 
Miss  Aldclyffe  awoke  with  a  low  scream. 

She  remembered  her  position  instantly.  '  O  such 
a  terrible  dream  ! '  she  cried,  in  a  hurried  whisper,  hold- 
ing to  Cytherea  in  her  turn ;  '  and  your  touch  was  the 
end  of  it.  It  was  dreadful.  Time,  with  his  wings,  hour- 
glass, and  scythe,  coming  nearer  and  nearer  to  me — 
grinning  and  mocking :  then  he  seized  me,  took  a  piece 
of  me  only.  .  .  .  But  I  can't  tell  you.  I  can't  bear  to 
think  of  it.  How  those  dogs  howl !  People  say  it 
means  death.' 

The  return  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  consciousness  was 
sufficient  to  dispel  the  wild  fancies  which  the  loneliness 
of  the  night  had  woven  in  Cytherea's  mind.  She  dis- 
missed the  third  noise  as  something  which  in  all  likeli- 
hood could  easily  be  explained,  if  trouble  were  taken  to 
inquire  into  it :  large  houses  had  all  kinds  of  strange 
sounds  floating  about  them.  She  was  ashamed  to  tell 
Miss  Aldclyfjfe  her  terrors. 

A  silence  of  five  minutes. 

'  Are  you  asleep  ?  '  said  Miss  Aldclyflfe. 

'  No,'  said  Cytherea,  in  a  long-drawn  whisper, 

'  How  those  dogs  howl,  don't  they  ?  ' 

'  Yes.     A  little  dog  in  the  house  began  it.' 

'  Ah,  yes  :  that  was  Totsy.  He  sleeps  on  the  mat 
outside  my  father's  l^edroom  door.     A  nervous  creature.' 

T04 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

There  was  a  silent  interval  of  nearly  half-an-hour. 
A  clock  on  the  landing  struck  three. 

'  Are  you  asleep,  Miss  Aldclyffe  ? '  whispered 
Cytherea. 

'  No,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  '  How  wretched  it  is  not 
to  be  able  to  sleep,  isn't  it  ? ' 

'  Yes,'  replied  Cytherea,  like  a  docile  child. 

Another  hour  passed,  and  the  clock  struck  four 
Miss  Aldclyflfe  was  still  awake. 

•  Cytherea,'  she  said,  very  softly. 

Cytherea  made  no  answer.  She  was  sleeping 
soundly. 

The  first  glimmer  of  dawn  was  now  visible.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  arose,  put  on  her  dressing-gown,  and  went 
softly  downstairs  to  her  own  room. 

'  I  have  not  told  her  who  I  am  after  all,  or  found 
out  the  particulars  of  Ambrose's  history,'  she  murmured. 
'  But  her  being  in  love  alters  everything.' 


3.  Half-past  Seven  to  Ten  o'clock  a.m. 

Cytherea  awoke,  quiet  in  mind  and  refreshed.  A 
conclusion  to  remain  at  Knapwater  was  already  in  pos- 
session of  her. 

Finding  Miss  Aldclyffe  gone,  she  dressed  herself  and 
sat  down  at  the  window  to  write  an  answer  to  Edward's 
letter,  and  an  account  of  her  arrival  at  Knapwater  to 
Owen.  The  dismal  and  heart-breaking  pictures  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  had  placed  before  her  the  preceding 
evening,  the  later  terrors  of  the  night,  were  now  but  as 
shadows  of  shadows,  and  she  smiled  in  derision  at  her 
own  excitability. 

But  writing  Edward's  letter  was  the  great  consoler, 

the  effect  of  each  word  upon  him  being  enacted  in  her 

own  face  as  she  wrote  it.     She  felt  how  much  she  would 

like  to  share  his  trouble — how  well  she  could  endure 

105 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

poverty  with  him — and  wondered  what  his  trouble  was. 
But  all  would  be  explained  at  last,  she  knew. 

At  the  appointed  time  she  went  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
room,  intending,  with  the  contradictoriness  common  in 
people,  to  perform  with  pleasure,  as  a  work  of  superero- 
gation, what  as  a  duty  was  simply  intolerable. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  already  out  of  bed.  The  bright 
penetrating  light  of  morning  made  a  vast  difference  in 
the  elder  lady's  behaviour  to  her  dependent ;  the  day, 
which  had  restored  Cytherea's  judgment,  had  effected 
the  same  for  Miss  Aldclyfife.  Though  practical  reasons 
forbade  her  regretting  that  she  had  secured  such  a  com- 
panionable creature  to  read,  talk,  or  play  to  her  when- 
ever her  whim  required,  she  was  inwardly  vexed  at  the 
extent  to  which  she  had  indulged  in  the  womanly  luxury 
of  making  confidences  and  giving  way  to  emotions.  Few 
would  have  supposed  that  the  calm  lady  sitting  aristo- 
cratically at  the  toilet  table,  seeming  scarcely  conscious 
of  Cytherea's  presence  in  the  room,  even  when  greeting 
her,  was  the  passionate  creature  who  had  asked  for 
kisses  a  few  hours  before. 

It  is  both  painful  and  satisfactory  to  think  how 
often  these  antitheses  are  to  be  observed  in  the 
individual  most  open  to  our  observation — ourselves. 
We  pass  the  evening  with  faces  lit  up  by  some  flaring 
illumination  or  other :  we  get  up  the  next  morning — 
the  fiery  jets  have  all  gone  out,  and  nothing  confronts 
us  but  a  few  crinkled  pipes  and  sooty  wirework,  hardly 
even  recalling  the  outline  of  the  blazing  picture  that 
arrested  our  eyes  before  bedtime. 

Emotions  would  be  half  starved  if  there  were  no 
candle  -  light.  Probably  nine  -  tenths  of  the  gushing 
letters  of  indiscreet  confession  are  written  after  nine 
or  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and  sent  off  before  day 
returns  to  leer  invidiously  upon  them.  Few  that  remain 
open  to  catch  our  glance  as  we  rise  in  the  morning, 
survive  the  frigid  criticism  of  dressing-time. 
io6 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

The  subjects  uppermost  in  the  minds  of  the  two 
women  who  had  thus  cooled  from  their  fires,  were 
not  the  visionary  ones  of  the  later  hours,  but  the  hard 
facts  of  their  earlier  conversation.  After  a  remark 
that  Cytherea  need  not  assist  her  in  dressing  unless 
she  wished  to,  Miss  Aldclyffe  said  abruptly — 

'  I  can  tell  that  young  man's  name.'  She  looked 
keenly  at  Cytherea.  '  It  is  Edward  Springrove,  my 
tenant's  son.' 

The  inundation  of  colour  upon  the  younger  lady  at 
hearing  a  name  which  to  her  was  a  world,  handled  as 
if  it  were  only  an  atom,  told  Miss  Aldclyffe  that  she 
had  divined  the  truth  at  last. 

'  Ah — it  is  he,  is  it  ? '  she  continued.  '  Well,  I 
wanted  to  know  for  practical  reasons.  His  example 
shows  that  I  was  not  so  far  wrong  in  my  estimate  of 
men  after  all,  though  I  only  generalized,  and  had  no 
thought  of  him.'     This  was  perfectly  true. 

'  What  do  you  mean  ? '  said  Cytherea,  visibly 
alarmed. 

*  Mean  ?  Why  that  all  the  world  knows  him  to  be 
engaged  to  be  married,  and  that  the  wedding  is  soon 
to  take  place.'  She  made  the  remark  bluntly  and 
superciliously,  as  if  to  obtain  absolution  at  the  hands 
of  her  family  pride  for  the  weak  confidences  of  the 
night. 

But  even  the  frigidity  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  morning 
mood  was  overcome  by  the  look  of  sick  and  blank 
despair  which  the  carelessly  uttered  words  had  pro- 
duced upon  Cytherea's  face.  She  sank  back  into  a 
chair,  and  buried  her  face  in  her  hands. 

'  Don't  be  so  foolish,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  '  Come, 
make  the  best  of  it.  I  cannot  upset  the  fact  I  have 
told  you  of,  unfortunately.  But  I  believe  the  match 
can  be  broken  off.' 

'  O  no,  no.' 

'  Nonsense.  I  liked  him  much  as  a  youth,  and  I 
107 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

like  him  now.  I'll  help  you  to  captivate  and  chain 
him  down.  I  have  got  over  my  absurd .  feeling  of  last 
night  in  not  wanting  you  ever  to  go  away  from  me — 
of  course,  I  could  not  expect  such  a  thing  as  that. 
There,  now  I  have  said  I'll  help  you,  and  that's 
enough.  He's  tired  of  his  first  choice  now  that  he's 
been  away  from  home  for  a  while.  The  love  that  no 
outer  attack  can  frighten  away  quails  before  its  idol's 
own  homely  ways;  it  is.  always  so.  .  .  .  Come,  finish 
what  you  are  doing  if  you  are  going  to,  and  don't  be  a 
little  goose  about  such  a  trumpery  affair  as  that.' 

'  Who — is  he  engaged  to  ?  '  Cytherea  inquired  by 
a  movement  of  her  lips  but  no  sound  of  her  voice. 
But  Miss  Aldclyffe  did  not  answer.  It  mattered  not, 
Cytherea  thought.  Another  v;oman — that  was  enough 
for  her :  curiosity  was  stunned. 

She  applied  herself  to  the  work  of  dressing,  scarcely 
knowing  how.     Miss  Aldclyffe  went  on  : — 

*  You  were  too  easily  won.  I'd  have  made  him  or 
anybody  else  speak  out  before  he  should  have  kissed 
my  face  for  his  pleasure.  But  you  are  one  of  those 
precipitantly  fond  things  who  are  yearning  to  throw 
away  their  hearts  upon  the  first  worthless  fellow  who 
says  good-morning.  In  the  first  place,  you  shouldn't 
have  loved  him  so  quickly :  in  the  next,  if  you  must 
have  loved  him  off-hand,  you  should  have  concealed  it. 
It  tickled  his  vanity :  "  By  Jove,  that  girl's  in  love 
with  me  already  !  "  he  thought.' 

To  hasten  away  at  the  end  of  the  toilet,  to  tell  Mrs. 
Morris — who  stood  waiting  in  a  little  room  prepared 
for  her,  with  tea  poured  out,  bread-and-butter  cut  into 
diaphanous  slices,  and  eggs  arranged — that  she  wanted 
no  breakfast :  then  to  shut  herself  alone  in  her  bed- 
room, was  her  only  thought.  She  was  followed  thither 
by  the  well-intentioned  matron  with  a  cup  of  tea  and 
one  piece  of  bread-and-butter  on  a  tray,  cheerfully 
insisting  that  she  should  eat  it. 
io8 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

To  those  who  grieve,  innocent  cheerfulness  seems 
heartless  levity.  '  No,  thank  you,  Mrs.  Morris,'  she 
said,  keeping  the  door  closed.  Despite  the  inciviUty  of 
the  action,  Cytherea  could  not  bear  to  let  a  pleasant 
person  see  her  face  then. 

Immediate  revocation — even  if  revocation  would  be 
more  effective  by  postponement — is  the  impulse  of 
young  wounded  natures.  Cytherea  went  to  her  blotting- 
book,  took  out  the  long  letter  so  carefully  written,  so 
full  of  gushing  remarks  and  tender  hints,  and  sealed  up 
so  neatly  with  a  little  seal  bearing  '  Good  Faith '  as  its 
motto,  tore  the  missive  into  fifty  pieces,  and  threw  them 
into  the  grate.  It  was  then  the  bitterest  of  anguishes 
to  look  upon  some  of  the  words  she  had  so  lovingly 
written,  and  see  them  existing  only  in  mutilated  forms 
without  meaning — to  feel  that  his  eye  would  never  read 
them,  nobody  ever  know  how  ardently  she  had  penned 
them. 

Pity  for  one's  self  for  being  wasted  is  mostly  present 
in  these  moods  of  abnegation. 

The  meaning  of  all  his  allusions,  his  abruptness  in 
telling  her  of  his  love,  his  constraint  at  first,  then  his 
desperate  manner  of  speaking,  was  clear.  They  must 
have  been  the  last  flickerings  of  a  conscience  not  quite 
dead  to  all  sense  of  perfidiousness  and  fickleness.  Now 
he  had  gone  to  London :  she  would  be  dismissed  from 
his  memory,  in  the  same  way  as  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  said. 
And  here  she  was  in  Edward's  own  parish,  reminded 
continually  of  him  by  what  she  saw  and  heard.  The 
landscape,  yesterday  so  much  and  so  bright  to  her,  was 
now  but  as  the  banquet-hall  deserted — all  gone  but 
herself. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  wormed  her  secret  out  of  her, 
and  would  now  be  continually  mocking  her  for  her 
trusting  simplicity  in  believing  him.  It  was  altogether 
unbearable :  she  would  not  stay  there. 

She  went  downstairs  and  found  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
109 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

gone  into  the  breakfast-room,  but  that  Captain  Aldclyffe, 
who  rose  later  with  increasing  infirmities,  had  not  yet 
made  his  appearance.  Cytherea  entered.  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe was  looking  out  of  the  window,  watching  a  trail 
of  white  smoke  along  the  distant  landscape — signifying 
a  passing  train.  At  Cytherea's  entry  she  turned  and 
looked  inquiry. 

'  I  must  tell  you  now,'  began  Cytherea,  in  a  tremulous 
voice. 

« Well,  what  ?  '  Miss  Aldclyffe  said. 

*  I  am  not  going  to  stay  with  you.  I  must  go  away 
— a  very  long  way.  I  am  very  sorry,  but  indeed  I  can't 
remain ! ' 

'Pooh — what  shall  we  hear  next?'  Miss  Aldclyffe 
surveyed  Cytherea's  face  with  leisurely  criticism.  '  You 
are  breaking  your  heart  again  about  that  worthless  young 
Springrove.  I  knew  how  it  would  be.  It  is  as  Hallam 
says  of  Juliet — what  little  reason  you  may  have  pos- 
sessed originally  has  all  been  whirled  away  by  this  love. 
I  shan't  take  this  notice,  mind.' 

'  Do  let  me  go  ! ' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  took  her  new  pet's  hand,  and  said 
with  severity,  '  As  to  hindering  you,  if  you  are  deter- 
mined to  go,  of  course  that's  absurd.  But  you  are  not 
now  in  a  state  of  mind  fit  for  deciding  upon  any  such 
proceeding,  and  I  shall  not  listen  to  what  you  have  to 
say.  Now,  Cythie,  come  with  me ;  we'll  let  this  volcano 
burst  and  spend  itself,  and  after  that  we'll  see  what  had 
better  be  done.'  She  took  Cytherea  into  her  workroom, 
opened  a  drawer,  and  drew  forth  a  roll  of  linen. 

'  This  is  some  embroidery  I  began  one  day,  and  now 
I  should  like  it  finished.' 

She  then  preceded  the  maiden  upstairs  to  Cytherea's 
own  room.  '  There,'  she  said,  '  now  sit  down  here,  go 
on  with  this  work,  and  remember  one  thing — that  you 
are  not  to  leave  the  room  on  any  pretext  whatever  for 
two  hours  unless  I  send  for  you — I  insist  kindly,  dear. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Whilst  you  stitch — you  are  to  stitch,  recollect,  and  not 
go  mooning  out  of  the  window — think  over  the  whole 
matter,  and  get  cooled ;  don't  let  the  foolish  love-affair 
prevent  your  thinking  as  a  woman  of  the  world.  If  at 
the  end  of  that  time  you  still  say  you  mu3t  leave  me, 
you  may.  I  will  have  no  more  to  say  in  the  matter. 
Come,  sit  down,  and  promise  to  sit  here  the  time  I 
name.' 

To  hearts  in  a  despairing  mood,  compulsion  seems  a 
relief;  and  docility  was  at  all  times  natural  to  Cytherea. 
She  promised,  and  sat  down.  Miss  Aldclyffe  shut  the 
door  upon  her  and  retreated. 

She  sewed,  stopped  to  think,  shed  a  tear  or  two, 
recollected  the  articles  of  the  treaty,  and  sewed  again ; 
and  at  length  fell  into  a  reverie  which  took  no  account 
whatever  of  the  lapse  of  time. 


4.  Ten  to  Twelve  o'clock  a.m. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  might  have  passed  when  her 
thoughts  became  attracted  from  the  past  to  the  present 
by  unwonted  movements  downstairs.  She  opened  the 
door  and  listened. 

There  were  hurryings  along  passages,  opening  and 
shutting  of  doors,  trampling  in  the  stable-yard.  She 
went  across  into  another  bedroom,  from  which  a  view  of 
the  stable-yard  could  be  obtained,  and  arrived  there  just 
in  time  to  see  the  figure  of  the  man  who  had  driven 
her  from  the  station  vanishing  down  the  coach-road 
on  a  black  horse — galloping  at  the  top  of  the  animal's 
speed. 

Another  man  went  o(T  in  the  direction  of  the  village. 

Whatever  had  occurred,  it  did  not  seem  to  be  her 
duty  to  inquire  or  meddle  with  it,  stranger  and  de- 
pendent as  she  was,  unless  she  were  requested  to, 
especially  after   Miss   Aldclyffe's   strict   charge    to  her. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

She  sat  down  again,  determined  to  let  no  idle  curiosity 
influence  her  movements. 

Her  windo^v  commanded  the  front  of  the  house; 
and  the  next  thing  she  saw  was  a  clergyman  walk  up 
and  enter  the  door. 

All  was  silent  again  till,  a  long  time  after  the  first 
man  had  left,  he  returned  again  on  the  same  horse,  now 
matted  with  sweat  and  trotting  behind  a  carriage  in 
which  sat  an  elderly  gentleman  driven  by  a  lad  in  livery. 
These  came  to  the  house,  entered,  and  all  was  again  the 
same  as  before. 

The  whole  household — master,  mistress,  and  servants 
— appeared  to  have  forgotten  the  very  existence  of  such 
a  being  as  Cytherea.  She  almost  wished  she  had  not 
vowed  to  have  no  idle  curiosity. 

Half-an  hour  later,  the  carriage  drove  off  with  the 
elderly  gentleman,  and  two  or  three  messengers  left 
the  house,  speeding  in  various  directions.  Rustics  in 
smock-frocks  began  to  hang  about  the  road  opposite  the 
house,  or  lean  against  trees,  looking  idly  at  the  windows 
and  chimneys. 

A  tap  came  to  Cytherea's  door.  She  opened  it  to  a 
young  maid-servant. 

'  Miss  Aldclyffe  wishes  to  see  you,  ma'am.'  Cytherea 
hastened  down. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  was  standing  on  the  hearthrug,  her 
elbow  on  the  mantel,  her  hand  to  her  temples,  her  eyes 
on  the  ground  ;  perfectly  calm,  but  very  pale. 

'  Cytherea,'  she  said  in  a  whisper,  '  come  here.' 

Cytherea  went  close. 

'  Something  very  serious  has  taken  place,'  she  said 
again,  and  then  paused,  with  a  tremulous  movement  of 
her  mouth. 

'  Yes,'  said  Cytherea. 

'  My  father.  He  was  found  dead  in  his  bed  this 
morning.' 

'  Dead  ! '   echoed   the  younger   woman.     It   seemed 

112 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

impossible  that  the  announcement  could  be  true;  that 
knowledge  of  so  great  a  fact  could  be  contained  in  a 
statement  so  small. 

'Yes,  dead,'  murmured  Miss  Aldclyffe  solemnly. 
'  He  died  alone,  though  within  a  few  feet  of  me.  The 
room  we  slept  in  is  exactly  over  his  own.' 

Cytherea  said  hurriedly,  '  Do  they  know  at  what 
hour  ? ' 

'  The  doctor  says  it  must  have  been  between  two  and 
three  o'clock  this  morning.' 

'  Then  I  heard  him  ! ' 

'  Heard  him  ? ' 

*  Heard  him  die ! ' 

'  You  heard  him  die  ? .    What  did  you  hear  ? ' 

'  A  sound  I  heard  once  before  in  my  life — at  the 
deathbed  of  my  mother,  I  could  not  identify  it — 
though  I  recognized  it.  Then  the  dog  howled  :  you 
remarked  it.  I  did  not  think  it  worth  while  to  tell 
you  what  I  had  heard  a  little  earlier.'  She  looked 
agonized. 

'  It  would  have  been  useless,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 
'  All  was  over  by  that  time.'  She  addressed  herself  as 
much  as  Cytherea  when  she  continued,  '  Is  it  a  Provi- 
dence who  sent  you  here  at  this  juncture  that  I  might 
not  be  left  entirely  alone  ?  * 

Till  this  instant  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  forgotten  the 
reason  of  Cytherea's  seclusion  in  her  own  room.  So 
had  Cytherea  herself.  The  fact  now  recurred  to  both 
in  one  moment. 

'  Do  you  still  wish  to  go  ? '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe 
anxiously. 

'  I  don't  want  to  go  now,'  Cytherea  had  remarked 
simultaneously  with  the  other's  question.  She  was 
pondering  on  the  strange  likeness  which  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
bereavement  bore  to  her  own ;  it  had  the  appearance  of 
being  still  another  call  to  her  not  to  forsake  this  woman 
so  linked  to  her  life,  for  the  sake  of  any  trivial  vexation. 

113  H 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Miss  Aldclyffe  held  her  almost  as  a  lover  would  have 
held  her,  and  said  musingly — 

'  We  get  more  and  more  into  one  groove.  I  now 
am  left  fatherless  and  motherless  as  you  were.'  Other 
ties  lay  behind  in  her  thoughts,  but  she  did  not  mention 
them. 

'  You  loved  your  father,  Cytherea,  and  wept  for 
him?' 

*  Yes,  I  did.     Poor  papa  ! ' 

*  I  was  always  at  variance  with  mine,  and  can't  weep 
for  him  now !  But  you  must  stay  here  always,  and 
make  a  better  woman  of  me.' 

The  compact  was  thus  sealed,  and  Cytherea,  in  spite 
of  the  failure  of  her  advertisements,  was  installed  as  a 
veritable  Companion.  And,  once  more  in  the  history  of 
human  endeavour,  a  position  which  it  was  impossible  to 
reach  by  any  direct  attempt,  was  come  to  by  the  seeker's 
swerving  from  the  path,  and  regarding  the  original  object 
as  one  of  secondary  importance. 


DEbPERATE   REMEDIES 


VII 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

EIGHTEEN  DA  YS 

I.  August  the  Seventeenth 

i  HE  time  of  day  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon. 
The  place  was  the  lady's  study  or  boudoir,  Knapwater 
House.  The  person  was  Miss  Aldclyffe  sitting  there 
alone,  clothed  in  deep  mourning. 

The  funeral  of  the  old  Captain  had  taken  place,  and 
his  will  had  been  read.  It  was  very  concise,  and  had 
been  executed  about  five  years  previous  to  his  death. 
It  was  attested  by  his  solicitors,  Messrs.  Nyttleton  and 
Tayling,  of  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.  The  whole  of  his 
estate,  real  and  personal,  was  bequeathed  to  his  daughter 
Cytherea,  for  her  sole  and  absolute  use,  subject  only  to 
the  payment  of  a  legacy  to  the  rector,  their  relative,  and 
a  few  small  amounts  to  the  servants. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  not  chosen  the  easiest  chair  of 
her  boudoir  to  sit  in,  or  even  a  chair  of  ordinary  comfort; 
but  an  uncomfortable,  high,  narrow-backed,  oak  framed 
and  seated  chair,  which  was  allowed  to  remain  in  the 
room  only  on  the  ground  of  being  a  companion  in 
artistic  quaintness  to  an  old  coffer  beside  it,  and  was 
never  used  except  to  stand  in  to  reach  for  a  book  from 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  highest  row  of  shelves.  But  she  had  sat  erect  in 
this  chair  for  more  than  an  hour,  for  the  reason  that  she 
was  utterly  unconscious  of  what  her  actions  and  bodily 
feelings  were.  The  chair  had  stood  nearest  her  path  on 
entering  the  room,  and  she  had  gone  to  it  in  a  dream. 

She  sat  in  the  attitude  which  denotes  unflagging, 
intense,  concentrated  thought — as  if  she  were  cast  in 
bronze.  Her  feet  were  together,  her  body  bent  a  little 
forward,  and  quite  unsupported  by  the  back  of  the  chair ; 
her  hands  on  her  knees,  her  eyes  fixed  intently  on  the 
corner  of  a  footstool. 

At  last  she  moved  and  tapped  her  fingers  upon  the 
table  at  her  side.  Her  pent-up  ideas  had  finally  found 
some  channel  to  advance  in.  Motions  became  more 
and  more  frequent  as  she  laboured  to  carry  further  and 
further  the  problem  which  occupied  her  brain.  She  sat 
back  and  drew  a  long  breath :  she  sat  sideways  and 
leant  her  forehead  upon  her  hand.  Later  still  she  arose, 
walked  up  and  down  the  room — at  first  abstractedly, 
with  her  features  as  firmly  set  as  ever ;  but  by  degrees 
her  brow  relaxed,  her  footsteps  became  lighter  and  more 
leisurely;  her  head  rode  gracefully  and  was  no  longer 
bowed.     She  plumed  herself  like  a  swan  after  exertion. 

*  Yes,'  she  said  aloud.  *  To  get  him  here  without  let- 
ting him  know  that  I  have  any  other  object  than  that  of 
getting  a  useful  man — that's  the  difficulty — and  that  I 
think  I  can  master.' 

She  rang  for  the  new  maid,  a  placid  woman  of  forty, 
with  a  few  grey  hairs. 

*  Ask  Miss  Graye  if  she  can  come  to  me.' 
Cytherea  was  not  far  off,  and  came  in. 

'  Do  you  know  anything  about  architects  and  sur- 
veyors ?  '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe  abruptly. 

'  Know  anything  ? '  replied  Cytherea,  poising  herself 
on  her  toe  to  consider  the  compass  of  the  question. 

*  Yes — know  anything,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

'  Owen  is  an  architect  and  surveyor's  draughtsman,' 
ii6 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  maiden  said,  and  thought  of  somebody  else  who  was 
likewise. 

'  Yes  !  that's  why  I  asked  you.  What  are  the  different 
kinds  of  work  comprised  in  an  architect's  practice  ?  They 
lay  out  estates,  and  superintend  the  various  works  done 
upon  them,  I  should  think,  among  other  things  ? ' 

'  Those  are,  more  properly,  a  land  or  building  steward's 
duties — at  least  I  have  always  imagined  so.  Country 
architects  include  those  things  in  their  practice;  city 
architects  don't.' 

'  I  know  that,  child.  But  a  steward's  is  an  indefinite 
fast  and  loose  profession,  it  seems  to  me.  Shouldn't 
you  think  that  a  man  who  had  been  brought  up  as  an 
architect  would  do  for  a  steward  ? ' 

Cytherea  had  doubts  whether  an  architect  pure 
would  do. 

The  chief  pleasure  connected  with  asking  an  opinion 
lies  in  not  adopting  it.  Miss  Aldclyffe  replied  de- 
cisively— 

'  Nonsense ;  of  course  he  would.  Your  brother  Owen 
makes  plans  for  country  buildings — such  as  cottages, 
stables,  homesteads,  and  so  on  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  he  does.' 

'  And  superintends  the  building  of  them  ?  ' 

*  Yes ;  he  will  soon.' 

'  And  he  surveys  land  ?  ' 

'  O  yes.' 

'  And  he  knows  about  hedges  and  ditches — how  wide 
they  ought  to  be,  boundaries,  levelling,  planting  trees 
to  keep  away  the  winds,  measuring  timber,  houses  for 
ninety-nine  years,  and  such  things  ?  ' 

'  I  have  never  heard  him  say  that ;  but  I  think  Mr. 
Gradfield  does  those  things.  Owen,  I  am  afraid,  is 
inexperienced  as  yet.' 

'Yes;  your  brother  is  not  old  enough  for  such  a 
post  yet,  of  course.  And  then  there  are  rent-days,  the 
audit  and  winding  up  of  tradesmen's  accounts.  I  am 
I  HZ. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

afraid,  Cytherea,  you  don't  know  much  more  about 
the  matter  than  I  do  myself.  ...  I  am  going  out  just 
now,'  she  continued.  *  I  shall  not  want  you  to  walk 
with  me  to-day.     Run  away  till  dinner-time.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  went  out  of  doors,  and  down  the  steps 
to  the  lawn  :  then  turning  to  the  left,  through  a  shrubbery, 
she  opened  a  wicket  and  passed  into  a  neglected  and 
leafy  carriage-drive,  leading  down  the  hill.  This  she 
followed  till  she  reached  the  point  of  its  greatest  depres- 
sion, which  was  also  the  lowest  ground  in  the  whole  grove. 

The  trees  here  were  so  interlaced,  and  hung  their 
branches  so  near  the  ground,  that  a  whole  summer's  day 
was  scarcely  long  enough  to  change  the  air  pervading  the 
spot  from  its  normal  state  of  coolness  to  even  a  temporary 
warmth.  The  unvarying  freshness  was  helped  by  the 
nearness  of  the  ground  to  the  level  of  the  springs,  and 
by  the  presence  of  a  deep,  sluggish  stream  close  by, 
equally  well  shaded  by  bushes  and  a  high  wall.  Follow- 
ing the  road,  which  now  ran  along  at  the  margin  of  the 
stream,  she  came  to  an  opening  in  the  wall,  on  the  other 
side  of  the  water,  revealing  a  large  rectangular  nook  from 
which  the  stream  proceeded,  covered  with  froth,  and 
accompanied  by  a  dull  roar.  Two  more  steps,  and  she 
was  opposite  the  nook,  in  full  view  of  the  cascade  forming 
its  further  boundary.  Over  the  top  could  be  seen  the 
bright  outer  sky  in  the  form  of  a  crescent,  caused  by  the 
curve  of  a  bridge  across  the  rapids,  and  the  trees  above. 

Beautiful  as  was  the  scene  she  did  not  look  in  that 
direction.  The  same  standing-ground  afforded  another 
prospect,  straight  in  the  front,  less  sombre  than  the 
water  on  the  right  or  the  trees  all  around.  The  avenue 
and  grove  which  flanked  it  abruptly  terminated  a  few 
yards  ahead,  where  the  ground  began  to  rise,  and  on  the 
remote  edge  of  the  greensward  thus  laid  open,  stood  all 
that  remained  of  the  original  manor-house,  to  which  the 
dark  margin-line  of  the  trees  in  the  avenue  formed  an 
adequate  and  well-fitting  frame.     It  was  the  picture  thus 

ii8 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

presented  that  was  now  interesting  Miss  Aldclyffe — not 
artistically  or  historically,  but  practically — as  regarded 
its  fitness  for  adaptation  to  modern  requirements. 

In  front,  detached  from  everything  else,  rose  the  most 
ancient  portion  of  the  structure — an  old  arched  gate- 
way, flanked  by  the  bases  of  two  small  towers,  and 
nearly  covered  with  creepers,  which  had  clambered  over 
the  eaves  of  the  sinking  roof,  and  up  the  gable  to  the 
crest  of  the  Aldclyffe  family  perched  on  the  apex.  Be- 
hind this,  at  a  distance  of  ten  or  twenty  yards,  came  the 
only  portion  of  the  main  building  that  still  existed — an 
Elizabethan  fragment,  consisting  of  as  much  as  could  be 
contained  under  three  gables  and  a  cross  roof  behind. 
Against  the  wall  could  be  seen  ragged  lines  indicating 
the  form  of  other  destroyed  gables  which  had  once 
joined  it  there.  The  muUioned  and  transomed  windows, 
containing  five  or  six  lights,  were  mostly  bricked  up  to 
the  extent  of  two  or  three,  and  the  remaining  portion 
fitted  with  cottage  window-frames  carelessly  inserted,  to 
suit  the  purpose  to  which  the  old  place  was  now  applied, 
it  being  partitioned  out  into  small  rooms  downstairs  to 
form  cottages  for  two  labourers  and  their  famihes ;  the 
upper  portion  was  arranged  as  a  storehouse  for  divers 
kinds  of  roots  and  fruit. 

The  owner  of  the  picturesque  spot,  after  her  survey 
from  this  point,  went  up  to  the  walls  and  walked  into 
the  old  court,  where  the  paving-stones  were  pushed  side- 
ways and  upwards  by  the  thrust  of  the  grasses  between 
them.  Two  or  three  Httle  children,  with  their  fingers 
in  thei^  mouths,  came  out  to  look  at  her,  and  then  ran 
in  to  tell  their  mothers  in  loud  tones  of  secrecy  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  was  coming.  Miss  Aldclyffe,  however, 
did  not  come  in.  She  concluded  her  survey  of  the 
exterior  by  making  a  complete  circuit  of  the  building ; 
then  turned  into  a  nook  a  short  distance  off  where  round 
and  square  timber,  a  saw-pit,  planks,  grindstones,  heaps 
of  building  stone  and  brick,  explained  that  the  spot  was 
119 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  centre  of  operations  for  the  building  work  done  on 
the  estate.  • 

She  paused,  and  looked  around.  A  man  who  had 
seen  her  from  the  window  of  the  workshops  behind,  came 
out  and  respectfully  lifted  his  hat  to  her.  It  was  the 
first  time  she  had  been  seen  walking  outside  the  house 
since  her  father's  death. 

*  Strooden,  could  the  Old  House  be  made  a  decent 
residence  of,  without  much  trouble  ?  '  she  inquired. 

The  mechanic  considered,  and  spoke  as  each  con- 
sideration completed  itself 

'  You  don't  forget,  ma'am,  that  two-thirds  of  the  place 
is  already  pulled  down,  or  gone  to  ruin  ? ' 

*  Yes ;  I  know.' 

*  And  that  what's  left  may  almost  as  well  be,  ma'am.' 
'  Why  may  it  ? ' 

'  'Twas  so  cut  up  inside  when  they  made  it  into 
cottages,  that  the  whole  carcase  is  full  of  cracks.' 

*  Still  by  puUing  down  the  inserted  partitions,  and 
adding  a  little  outside,  it  could  be  made  to  answer  the 
purpose  of  an  ordinary  six  or  eight-roomed  house  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  ma'am.' 

*  About  what  would  it  cost  ?  '  was  the  question  which 
had  invariably  come  next  in  every  communication  of 
this  kind  to  which  the  superintending  workman  had 
been  a  party  during  his  whole  experience.  To  his  sur- 
prise. Miss  Aldclyffe  did  not  put  it.  The  man  thought 
her  object  in  altering  an  old  house  must  have  been  an 
unusually  absorbing  one  not  to  prompt  what  was  so 
instinctive  in  owners  as  hardly  to  require  any  prompting 
at  all. 

'  Thank  you :  that's  sufficient,  Strooden,'  she  said. 
'You  will  understand  that  it  is  not  unlikely  some  altera- 
tion may  be  made  here  in  a  short  time,  with  reference 
to  the  management  of  the  affairs.' 

Strooden  said  '  Yes,'  in  a  complex  voice,  and  looked 
uneasy. 

1 20 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  During  the  life  of  Captain  Aldclyffe,  with  you  as  the 
foreman  of  works,  and  he  himself  as  his  own  steward, 
everything  worked  well.  But  now  it  may  be  necessary 
to  have  a  steward,  whose  management  will  encroach 
further  upon  things  which  have  hitherto  been  left  in 
your  hands  than  did  your  late  master's.  What  I  mean 
is,  that  he  will  directly  and  in  detail  superintend  all.' 

'  Then — I  shall  not  be  wanted,  ma'am  ?  '  he  faltered. 

'  O  yes ;  if  you  like  to  stay  on  as  foreman  in  the 
yard  and  workshops  only.  I  should  be  sorry  to  lose 
you.  However,  you  had  better  consider.  I  will  send 
for  you  in  a  few  days.' 

Leaving  him  to  suspense,  and  all  the  ills  that  came 
in  its  train^ — distracted  application  to  his  duties,  and 
an  undefined  number  of  sleepless  nights  and  untasted 
dinners.  Miss  Aldclyffe  looked  at  her  watch  and  returned 
to  the  House.  She  was  about  to  keep  an  appointment 
with  her  solicitor,  Mr.  Nyttleton,  who  had  been  to  Bud- 
mouth,  and  was  coming  to  Knapwater  on  his  way  back 
to  London. 

2.  August  the  Twentieth 

On  the  Saturday  subsequent  to  Mr.  Nyttleton's  visit  to 
Knapwater  House,  the  subjoined  advertisement  appeared 
in  the  Field  and  the  Builder  newspapers  : — 

'Land  Steward. 

'  A  gentleman  of  integrity  and  professional  skill  is  required  im- 
mediately for  the  MANAGEMENT  of  an  estate,  containing  about 
looo  acres,  upon  which  agricultural  improvements  and  the  erection 
of  buildings  are  contemplated.  He  must  be  a  man  of  superior  edu- 
cation, unmarried,  and  not  more  than  thirty  years  of  age.  Con- 
siderable preference  will  be  shown  for  one  who  possesses  an  artistic 
as  well  as  a  practical  knowledge  of  planning  and  laying  out.  The 
reiMuneration  will  consist  of  a  salary  ol  £z20,  with  the  old  manor- 
house  as  a  residence. — Address  Messrs.  Nyttleton  and  Tayling, 
solicitors,  Lincoln's  Inn  Fields.' 

12  1 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

A  copy  of  each  paper  was  sent  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  on 
the  day  of  publication.  The  same  evening  she  told 
Cytherea  that  she  was  advertising  for  a  steward,  who 
would  live  at  the  old  manor-house,  showing  her  the 
papers  containing  the  announcement. 

What  was  the  drift  of  that  remark  ?  thought  the 
maiden ;  or  was  it  merely  made  to  her  in  confidential 
intercourse,  as  other  arrangements  were  told  her  daily. 
Yet  it  seemed  to  have  more  meaning  than  common. 
She  remembered  the  conversation  about  architects  and 
surveyors,  and  her  brother  Owen.  Miss  Aldclyffe  knew 
that  his  situation  was  precarious,  that  he  was  well 
-educated  and  practical,  and  was  applying  himself  heart 
and  soul  to  the  details  of  the  profession  and  all  con- 
nected with  it.  Miss  Aldclyffe  might  be  ready  to  take 
him  if  he  could  compete  successfully  with  others  who 
would  reply.     She  hazarded  a  question  : 

'Would  it  be  desirable  for  Owen  to  answer  it?' 

'  Not  at  all,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe  peremptorily. 

A  flat  answer  of  this  kind  had  ceased  to  alarm 
Cytherea.  Miss  Aldclyffe's  blunt  mood  was  not  her 
worst.  Cytherea  thought  of  another  man,  whose  name, 
in  spite  of  resolves,  tears,  renunciations  and  injured 
pride,  lingered  in  her  ears  like  an  old  familiar  strain. 
That  man  was  qualified  for  a  stewardship  under  a 
king. 

'  Would  it  be  of  any  use  if  Edward  Springrove  were 
to  answer  it  ? '  she  said,  resolutely  enunciating  the 
name. 

'  None  whatever,'  replied  Miss  Aldclyffe,  again  in  the 
same  decided  tone. 

'  You  are  very  unkind  to  speak  in  that  way.' 

*  Now  don't  pout  like  a  goosie,  as  you  are.  I  don't 
want  men  like  either  of  them,  for,  of  course,  I  must 
look  to  the  good  of  the  estate  rather  than  to  that  of 
any  individual.  The  man  I  want  must  have  been 
more    specially  educated.      I    have    told    you   that  we 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

are  going  to  London  next  week;  it  is  mostly  on  this 
account.' 

Cytherea  found  that  she  had  mistaken  the  drift  of 
Miss  Aldclyffe's  peculiar  explicitness  on  the  subject  of 
advertising,  and  wrote  to  tell  her  brother  that  if  he  saw 
the  notice  it  would  be  useless  to  reply. 


3.  August  the  Twenty-Fifth 

Five  days  after  the  above-mentioned  dialogue  took 
place  they  went  to  London,  and,  \nth  scarcely  a 
minute's  pause,  to  the  solicitors'  offices  in  Lincoln's  Inn 
Fields, 

They  alighted  opposite  one  of  the  characteristic 
entrances  about  the  place — a  gate  which  was  never, 
and  could  never  be,  closed,  flanked  by  lamp-standards 
carrying  no  lamp.  Rust  was  the  only  active  agent  to 
be  seen  there  at  this  time  of  the  day  and  year.  The 
palings  along  the  front  were  rusted  away  at  their  base 
to  the  thinness  of  wires,  and  the  successive  coats  of  paint, 
with  which  they  were  overlaid  in  bygone  days,  had  been 
completely  undermined  by  the  same  insidious  canker, 
which  lifted  off  the  paint  in  flakes,  leaving  the  raw  sur- 
face of  the  iron  on  palings,  standards,  and  gate  hinges, 
of  a  staring  blood-red. 

But  once  inside  the  railings  the  picture  changed. 
The  court  and  offices  were  a  complete  contrast  to  the 
grand  ruin  of  the  outwork  which  enclosed  them.  Well- 
painted  respectability  extended  over,  within,  and  around 
the  doorstep;  and  in  the  carefully  swept  yard  not  a 
particle  of  dust  was  visible. 

Mr.  Nyttleton,  who  had  just  come  up  from  Margate, 
where  he  was  staying  with  his  family,  was  standing  at 
the  top  of  his  own  staircase  as  the  pair  ascended.  He 
poHtely  took  them  inside. 

'  Is  there  a  comfortable  room  in  which  this  young 
123 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

lady   can   sit  during  our  interview  ? '    said    Miss    Ald- 
clyffe. 

It  was  rather  a  favourite  habit  of  hers  to  make  much 
of  Cytherea  when  they  were  out,  and  snub  her  for  it 
afterwards  when  they  got  home. 

*  Certainly — Mr.  Tayling's.'  Cytherea  was  shown 
into  an  inner  room. 

Social  definitions  are  all  made  relatively :  an  abso- 
lute datum  is  only  imagined.  The  small  gentry  about 
Knapwater  seemed  unpractised  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  Miss 
Aldclyffe  herself  seemed  unpractised  to  Mr.  Nyttleton's 
experienced  old  eyes. 

'  Now  then,'  the  lady  said,  when  she  was  alone 
with  the  lawyer;  'what  is  the  result  of  our  advertise- 
ment ? ' 

It  was  late  summer ;  the  estate-agency,  building, 
engineering,  and  surveying  worlds  were  dull.  There 
were  forty-five  replies  to  the  advertisement. 

Mr.  Nyttleton  spread  them  one  by  one  before  Miss 
Aldclyffe.  *  You  will  probably  like  to  read  some  of  them 
yourself,  madam  ?  '  he  said. 

*  Yes,  certainly,'  said  she. 

*  I  will  not  trouble  you  with  those  which  are  from 
persons  manifestly  unfit  at  first  sight,'  he  continued; 
and  began  selecting  from  the  heap  twos  and  threes 
which  he  had  marked,  collecting  others  into  his  hand. 
'The  man  we  want  lies  among  these,  if  my  judgment 
doesn't  deceive  me,  and  from  them  it  would  be  advisable 
to  select  a  certain  number  to  be  communicated  with.' 

'  I  should  like  to  see  every  one — only  just  to  glance 
them  over — exactly  as  they  came,'  she  said  suasively. 

He  looked  as  if  he  thought  this  a  waste  of  his  time, 
but  dismissing  his  sentiment  unfolded  each  singly  and 
laid  it  before  her.  As  he  laid  them  out,  it  struck  him 
that  she  studied  them  quite  as  rapidly  as  he  could  spread 
them.  He  slyly  glanced  up  from  the  outer  corner  of 
his  eye  to  hers,  and  noticed  that  all  she  did  was  look  at 

124 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  name  at  the  bottom  of  the  letter,  and  then  put  the 
enclosure  aside  without  further  ceremony.  He  thought 
this  an  odd  way  of  inquiring  into  the  merits  of  forty-five 
men  who  at  considerable  trouble  gave  in  detail  reasons 
why  they  believed  themselves  well  qualified  for  a  certain 
post.  She  came  to  the  final  one,  and  put  it  down  with 
the  rest. 

Then  the  lady  said  that  in  her  opinion  it  would  be 
best  to  get  as  many  replies  as  they  possibly  could  before 
selecting — '  to  give  us  a  wider  choice.  \Vhat  do  you 
think,  Mr.  Nyttleton  ? ' 

It  seemed  to  him,  he  said,  that  a  greater  number 
than  those  they  already  had  would  scarcely  be  necessary, 
and  if  they  waited  for  more,  there  would  be  this  dis- 
advantage attending  it,  that  some  of  those  they  now 
could  command  would  possibly  not  be  available. 

'  Never  mind,  we  will  run  that  risk,'  said  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe.  '  Let  the  advertisement  be  inserted  once  more, 
and  then  we  will  certainly  settle  the  matter.' 

Mr.  Nyttleton  bowed,  and  seemed  to  think  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  for  a  single  woman,  and  one  who  till  so  very 
recently  had  never  concerned  herself  with  business  of 
any  kind,  a  very  meddlesome  client.  But  she  was  rich, 
and  handsome  still.  '  She's  a  new  broom  in  estate- 
management  as  yet,'  he  thought.  '  She  will  soon  get 
tired  of  this,'  and  he  parted  from  her  without  a  senti- 
ment which  could  mar  his  habitual  bland ncss. 

The  two  ladies  then  proceeded  westward.  Dis- 
missing the  cab  in  Waterloo  Place,  they  went  along  Pall 
Mall  on  foot,  where  in  place  of  the  usual  well-dressed 
clubbists — rubicund  with  alcohol — were  to  be  seen,  in 
linen  pinafores,  flocks  of  house- painters  pallid  from 
white  lead.  When  they  had  reached  the  Green  Park, 
Cytherea  proposed  that  they  should  sit  down  awhile 
under  the  young  elms  at  the  brow  of  the  hill.  This 
they  did — the  growl  of  Piccadilly  on  their  left  hand — 
the  monastic  seclusion  of  the  Palace  on  their  right: 
125 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

before  them,  the  clock  tower  of  the  Houses  of  Parlia- 
ment, standing  forth  with  a  metallic  lustre  against  a 
livid  Lambeth  sky. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  still  carried  in  her  hand  a  copy  of 
the  newspaper,  and  while  Cytherea  had  been  interest- 
ing herself  in  the  picture  around,  glanced  again  at  the 
advertisement. 

She  heaved  a  slight  sigh,  and  began  to  fold  it  up 
again.  In  the  action  her  eye  caught  sight  of  two  con- 
secutive advertisements  on  the  cover,  one  relating  to 
some  lecture  on  Art,  and  addressed  to  members  of  the 
Institute  of  Architects.  The  other  emanated  from  the 
same  source,  but  was  addressed  to  the  public,  and 
stated  that  the  exhibition  of  drawings  at  the  Institute's 
rooms  would  close  at  the  end  of  that  week. 

Her  eye  lighted  up.  She  sent  Cytherea  back  to  the 
hotel  in  a  cab,  then  turned  round  by  Piccadilly  into 
Bond  Street,  and  proceeded  to  the  rooms  of  the  Institute. 
The  secretary  was  sitting  in  the  lobby.  After  making 
her  payment,  and  looking  at  a  few  of  the  drawings  on 
the  walls,  in  the  company  of  three  gentlemen,  the  only 
other  visitors  to  the  exhibition,  she  turned  back  and 
asked  if  she  might  be  allowed  to  see  a  list  of  the 
members.  She  was  a  little  connected  with  the  archi- 
tectural world,  she  said,  with  a  smile,  and  was  interested 
in  some  of  the  names. 

'  Here  it  is,  madam,'  he  replied,  politely  handing  her 
a  pamphlet  containing  the  names. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  turned  the  leaves  till  she  came  to  the 
letter  M.  The  name  she  hoped  to  find  there  was  there, 
with  the  address  appended,  as  was  the  case  with  all  the 
rest. 

The  address  was  at  some  chambers  in  a  street  not  far 
from  Charing  Cross.  '  Chambers,'  as  a  residence,  had 
always  been  assumed  l)y  the  lady  to  imply  the  condi- 
tion of  a  bachelor.  She  murmured  two  words,  *  There 
still.' 

126 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Another  request  had  yet  to  be  made,  but  it  was  of  a 
more  noticeable  kind  than  the  first,  and  might  compro- 
mise the  secrecy  with  which  she  wished  to  act  through- 
out this  episode.  Her  object  was  to  get  one  of  the 
envelopes  lying  on  the  secretary's  table,  stamped  with 
the  die  of  the  Institute ;  and  in  order  to  get  it  she  was 
about  to  ask  if  she  might  write  a  note. 

But  the  secretary's  back  chanced  to  be  turned,  and 
he  now  went  towards  one  of  the  men  at  the  other  end 
of  the  room,  who  had  called  him  to  ask  some  question 
relating  to  an  etching  on  the  wall.  Quick  as  thought, 
Miss  Aldclyffe  stood  before  the  table,  slipped  her  hand 
behind  her,  took  one  of  the  envelopes  and  put  it  in  her 
pocket. 

She  sauntered  round  the  rooms  for  two  or  three 
minutes  longer,  then  withdrew  and  returned  to  her 
hotel. 

Here  she  cut  the  Knapwater  advertisement  from  the 
paper,  put  it  into  the  envelope  she  had  stolen,  embossed 
with  the  society's  stamp,  and  directed  it  in  a  round 
clerkly  hand  to  the  address  she  had  seen  in  the  list  of 
members'  names  submitted  to  her : — 

^-Eneas  Manston,  Esq., 

Wykeham  Chambers, 

Spring  Gardens. 

This  ended  her  first  day's  work  in  London. 


4.  From  August  the  Twenty-Sixth  to 
September  the  First 

The  two   Cythereas   continued   at   the  Westminster 

Hotel,   Miss  Aldclyffe  informing    her   companion   that 

business  would  detain  them  in  London  another  week. 

The  days  passed  as  slowly  and  quietly  as  days  can  pass 

127 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

in  a  city  at  that  time  of  the  year,  the  shuttered  windows 
about  the  squares  and  terraces  confroi)ting  their  eyes 
like  the  white  and  sightless  orbs  of  blind  men.  On 
Thursday  Mr.  Nyttleton  called,  bringing  the  whole 
number  of  replies  to  the  advertisement.  Cytherea  was 
present  at  the  interview,  by  Miss  Aldclyffe's  request — 
either  from  whim  or  design. 

Ten  additional  letters  were  the  result  of  the  second 
week's  insertion,  making  fifty-five  in  all.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
looked  them  over  as  before.     One  was  signed — 

JEneas  Manston, 

133,  TuRNGATE  Street, 

Liverpool. 

'  Now,  then,  Mr.  Nyttleton,  will  you  make  a  selection, 
and  I  will  add  one  or  two,'  Miss  Aldclyffe  said. 

Mr.  Nyttleton  scanned  the  whole  heap  of  letters, 
testimonials,  and  references,  sorting  them  into  two 
heaps.  Manston's  missive,  after  a  mere  glance,  was 
thrown  amongst  the  summarily  rejected  ones. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  read,  or  pretended  to  read  after  the 
lawyer.  When  he  had  finished,  five  lay  in  the  group  he 
had  selected.  '  Would  you  like  to  add  to  the  number  ?  ' 
he  said,  turning  to  the  lady. 

'  No,'  she  said  carelessly.  '  Well,  two  or  three  addi- 
tional ones  rather  took  my  fancy,'  she  added,  searching 
for  some  in  the  larger  collection. 

She  drew  out  three.     One  was  Manston's. 

'  These  eight,  then,  shall  be  communicated  with,'  said 
the  lawyer,  taking  up  the  eight  letters  and  placing  them 
by  themselves. 

They  stood  up.  •  If  I  myself,  Miss  Aldclyffe,  were 
only  concerned  personally,'  he  said,  in  an  off-hand 
way,  and  holding  up  a  letter  singly,  '  I  should  choose 
this  man  unhesitatingly.  He  writes  honestly,  is  not 
afraid  to  name  what  he  does  not  consider  himself  well 
128 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

acquainted  with — a  rare  thing  to  find  in  answers  to 
advertisements ;  he  is  well  recommended,  and  possesses 
some  qualities  rarely  found  in  combination.  Oddly 
enough,  he  is  not  really  a  steward.  He  was  bred  a 
farmer,  studied  building  affairs,  served  on  an  estate  for 
some  time,  then  went  with  an  architect,  and  is  now 
well  qualified  as  architect,  estate  agent,  and  surveyor. 
That  man  is  sure  to  have  a  fine  head  for  a  manor 
like  yours.'  He  tapped  the  letter  as  he  spoke.  '  Yes, 
I  should  choose  him  without  hesitation — speaking 
personally.' 

*  And  I  think,'  she  said  artificially,  '  I  should  choose 
this  one  as  a  matter  of  mere  personal  whim,  which,  of 
course,  can't  be  given  way  to  when  practical  questions 
have  to  be  considered.' 

Cytherea,  after  looking  out  of  the  window,  and  then 
at  the  newspapers,  had  become  interested  in  the  pro- 
ceedings between  the  clever  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  the  keen 
old  lawyer,  which  reminded  her  of  a  game  at  cards. 
She  looked  inquiringly  at  the  two  letters — one  in  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  hand,  the  other  in  Mr.  Nyttleton's. 

'  What  is  the  name  of  your  man  ? '  said  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe. 

'  His  name — '  said  the  lawyer,  looking  down  the 
page  ;  '  what  is  his  name  ? — it  is  Edward  Springrove.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  glanced  towards  Cytherea,  who  was 
getting  red  and  pale  by  turns.  She  looked  imploringly 
at  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

'  The  name  of  my  man,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  looking 
at  her  letter  in  turn ;  '  is,  I  think  —  yes  —  ^neas 
Manston.* 

5.  September  the  Third 

The  next  morning   but   one  was   appointed  for  the 
interviews,  which  were  to  be  at  the  lawyer's  offices.     Mr. 
Nyttleton  and  Mr.  Tayling  were  both  in  town  for  the 
129  I 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

day,  and  the  candidates  were  admitted  one  by  one  into 
a  private  room.  In  the  window  recess  was  seated  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  wearing  her  veil  down. 

The  lawyer  had,  in  his  letters  to  the  selected  number, 
timed  each  candidate  at  an  interval  of  ten  or  fifteen 
minutes  from  those  preceding  and  following.  They 
were  shown  in  as  they  arrived,  and  had  short  conver- 
sations with  Mr.  Nyttleton — terse,  and  to  the  point. 
Miss  Aldclyffe  neither  moved  nor  spoke  during  this 
proceeding;  it  might  have  been  supposed  that  she  was 
quite  unmindful  of  it,  had  it  not  been  for  what  was 
revealed  by  a  keen  penetration  of  the  veil  covering 
her  countenance — the  rays  from  two  bright  black  eyes, 
directed  towards  the  lawyer  and  his  interlocutor. 

Springrove  came  fifth ;  Manston  seventh.  When  the 
examination  of  all  was  ended,  and  the  last  man  had 
retired,  Nyttleton,  again  as  at  the  former  time,  blandly 
asked  his  client  which  of  the  eight  she  personally 
preferred.  '  I  still  think  the  fifth  we  spoke  to,  Sprin- 
grove, the  man  whose  letter  I  pounced  upon  at  first, 
to  be  by  far  the  best  qualified,  in  short,  most  suitable 
generally.' 

*  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  I  differ  from  you ;  I  lean  to 
my  first  notion  still — that  Mr. — Mr.  Manston  is  most 
desirable  in  tone  and  bearing,  and  even  specifically ;  I 
think  he  would  suit  me  best  in  the  long-run.' 

Mr.  Nyttleton  looked  out  of  the  window  at  the 
whitened  wall  of  the  court. 

'  Of  course,  madam,  your  opinion  may  be  perfectly 
sound  and  reliable;  a  sort  of  instinct,  I  know,  often 
leads  ladies  by  a  short  cut  to  conclusions  truer  than 
those  come  to  by  men  after  laborious  round  -  about 
calculations,  based  on  long  experience.  I  must  say  I 
shouldn't  recommend  him.* 

'  Why,  pray  ?  ' 

'  Well,  let  us  look  first  at  his  letter  of  answer  to  the 
advertisement.  He  didn't  reply  till  the  last  insertion; 
J  30 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

that's  one  thing.  His  letter  is  bold  and  frank  in  tone, 
so  bold  and  frank  that  the  second  thought  after  reading 
it  is  that  not  honesty,  but  unscrupulousness  of  con- 
science dictated  it.  It  is  written  in  an  indifferent  mood, 
as  if  he  felt  that  he  was  humbugging  us  in  his  statement 
that  he  was  the  right  man  for  such  an  office,  that  he 
tried  hard  to  get  it  only  as  a  matter  of  form  which 
required  that  he  should  neglect  no  opportunity  that 
came  in  his  way.' 

'  You  may  be  right,  Mr.  Nyttleton,  but  I  don't  quite 
see  the  grounds  of  your  reasoning.' 

'  He  has  been,  as  you  perceive,  almost  entirely  used 
to  the  office  duties  of  a  city  architect,  the  experience  we 
don't  want.  You  want  a  man  whose  acquaintance  with 
rural  landed  properties  is  more  practical  and  closer — 
somebody  who,  if  he  has  not  filled  exactly  such  an 
office  before,  has  lived  a  country  life,  knows  the  ins 
and  outs  of  country  tenancies,  building,  farming,  and 
so  on.' 

'  He's  by  far  the  most  intellectual  looking  of  them 
all.' 

'Yes;  he  may  be — your  opinion.  Miss  Aldclyffe,  is 
worth  more  than  mine  in  that  matter.  And  more  than 
you  say,  he  is  a  man  of  parts — his  brain  power  would 
soon  enable  him  to  master  details  and  fit  him  for  the 
post,  I  don't  much  doubt  that.  But  to  speak  clearly ' 
(here  his  words  started  off  at  a  jog-trot)  '  I  wouldn't  run 
the  risk  of  placing  the  management  of  an  estate  of  mine 
in  his  hands  on  any  account  whatever.  There,  that's 
flat  and  plain,  madam.' 

'  But,  definitely,'  she  said,  with  a  show  of  impatience, 
'  what  is  your  reason  ?  ' 

'  He  is  a  voluptuary  with  activity ;  which  is  a  very 
bad  form  of  man — as  bad  as  it  is  rare.' 

'  Oh.  Thank  you  for  your  explicit  statement,  Mr. 
Nyttleton,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  starting  a  little  and 
flushing  with  displeasure. 

131 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Mr.  Nyttleton  nodded  slightly,  as  a  sort  of  neutral 
motion,  simply  signifying  a  receipt  of  the  information, 
good  or  bad. 

'  And  I  really  think  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to 
trouble  you  further  in  this,'  continued  the  lady.  '  He's 
quite  good  enough  for  a  little  insignificant  place  like 
mine  at  Knapwater;  and  I  know  that  I  could  not  get 
on  with  one  of  the  others  for  a  single  month.  We'll 
try  him.' 

'  Certainly,  Miss  Aldclyfle,'  said  the  lawyer.  And 
Mr.  Manston  was  written  to,  to  the  effect  that  he  was 
the  successful  competitor. 

'  Did  you  see  how  unmistakably  her  temper  was 
getting  the  better  of  her,  that  minute  you  were  in  the 
room  ? '  said  Nyttleton  to  Tayling,  when  their  client  had 
left  the  house.  Nyttleton  was  a  man  who  surveyed 
everybody's  character  in  a  sunless  and  shadowless 
northern  light.  A  culpable  slyness,  which  marked  him 
as  a  boy,  had  been  moulded  by  Time,  the  Improver, 
into  honourable  circumspection. 

We  frequently  find  that  the  quality  which,  conjoined 
with  the  simplicity  of  the  child,  is  vice,  is  virtue  when  it 
pervades  the  knowledge  of  the  man. 

'  She  was  as  near  as  damn-it  to  boiling  over  when  I 
added  up  her  man,'  continued  Nyttleton.  '  His  hand- 
some face  is  his  qualification  in  her  eyes.  They  have 
met  before ;  I  saw  that.' 

'  He  didn't  seem  conscious  of  it,'  said  the  junior. 

'  He  didn't.  That  was  rather  puzzling  to  me.  But 
still,  if  ever  a  woman's  face  spoke  out  plainly  that  she 
was  in  love  with  a  man,  hers  did  that  she  was  with  him. 
Poor  old  maid,  she's  almost  old  enough  to  be  his 
mother.  If  that  Manston's  a  schemer  he'll  marry  her, 
as  sure  as  I  am  Nyttleton.  Let's  hope  he's  honest, 
however.' 

'  I  don't  think  she's  in  love  with  him,'  said  Tayling. 
He  had  seen  but  little  of  the  pair,  and  yet  he  could 
132 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

not  reconcile  what  he  had  noticed  in  Miss  Aldclyfie's 
behaviour  with  the  idea  that  it  was  the  bearing  of  a 
woman  towards  her  lover. 

'  Well,  your  experience  of  the  fiery  phenomenon  is 
more  recent  than  mine,'  rejoined  Nyttleton  carelessly 
•  And  you  may  remember  the  nature  of  it  best.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


VIII 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

EIGHTEEN  DA  YS 

I.  From  the  Third  to  the  Nineteenth 
OF  September 

Miss  ALDCLYFFE'S  tenderness  towards  Cytherea, 
between  the  hours  of  her  irascibility,  increased  till  it 
became  no  less  than  doting  fondness.  Like  Nature  in 
the  tropics,  with  her  hurricanes  and  the  subsequent 
luxuriant  vegetation  effacing  their  ravages,  Miss  Ald- 
clyfife  compensated  for  her  outbursts  by  excess  of  gene- 
rosity afterwards.  She  seemed  to  be  completely  won 
out  of  herself  by  close  contact  with  a  young  woman 
whose  modesty  was  absolutely  unimpaired,  and  whose 
artlessness  was  as  perfect  as  was  compatible  with  the 
complexity  necessary  to  produce  the  due  charm  of 
womanhood.  Cytherea,  on  her  part,  perceived  with 
honest  satisfaction  that  her  influence  for  good  over 
Miss  Aldclyffe  was  considerable.  Ideas  and  habits 
peculiar  to  the  younger,  which  the  elder  lady  had  origi- 
nally imitated  as  a  mere  whim,  she  grew  in  course  of 
time  to  take  a  positive  delight  in.  Among  others  were 
evening  and  morning  prayers,  dreaming  over  out-door 
scenes,  learning  a  verse  from  some  poem  whilst 
dressing. 

»34 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Yet  try  to  force  her  sympathies  as  much  as  she 
would,  Cytherea  could  feel  no  more  than  thankful  for 
this,  even  if  she  always  felt  as  much  as  thankful.  The 
mysterious  cloud  hanging  over  the  past  life  of  her 
companion,  of  which  the  uncertain  light  already  thrown 
upon  it  only  seemed  to  render  still  darker  the  unpene- 
trated  remainder,  nourished  in  her  a  feeling  which  was 
scarcely  too  slight  to  be  called  dread.  She  would  have 
infinitely  preferred  to  be  treated  distantly,  as  the  mere 
dependent,  by  such  a  changeable  nature — like  a  foun- 
tain, always  herself,  yet  always  another.  That  a  crime 
of  any  deep  dye  had  ever  been  perpetrated  or  partici- 
pated in  by  her  namesake,  she  would  not  believe ;  but 
the  reckless  adventuring  of  the  lady's  youth  seemed 
connected  with  deeds  of  darkness  rather  than  of  light. 

Sometimes  Miss  Aldclyffe  appeared  to  be  on  the 
point  of  making  some  absorbing  confidence,  but  reflec- 
tion invariably  restrained  her.  Cytherea  hoped  that 
such  a  confidence  would  come  with  time,  and  that  she 
might  thus  be  a  means  of  soothing  a  mind  which  had 
obviously  known  extreme  suffering. 

But  Miss  Aldclyffe's  reticence  concerning  her  past 
was  not  imitated  by  Cytherea.  Though  she  never  dis- 
closed the  one  fact  of  her  knowledge  that  the  love-suit 
between  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  her  father  terminated  ab- 
normally, the  maiden's  natural  ingenuousness  on  subjects 
not  set  down  for  special  guard  had  enabled  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe to  worm  from  her,  fragment  by  fragment,  every 
detail  of  her  father's  history.  Cytherea  saw  how  deeply 
Miss  Aldclyffe  sympathized — and  it  compensated  her, 
to  some  extent,  for  the  hasty  resentments  of  other  times. 

Thus  uncertainly  she  lived  on.  It  was  perceived 
by  the  servants  of  the  House  that  some  secret  bond 
of  connection  existed  between  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  her 
companion.  But  they  were  woman  and  woman,  not 
woman  and  man,  the  facts  were  ethereal  and  refined, 
and  so  they  could  not  be  worked  up  into  a  taking 
135 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

story.  Whether,  as  old  critics  disputed,  a  supernatural 
machinery  be  necessary  to  an  epic  or  no,  an  ungodly 
machinery  is  decidedly  necessary  to  a  scandal. 

Another  letter  had  come  to  her  from  Edward — very 
short,  but  full  of  entreaty,  asking  why  she  would  not 
write  just  one  line — ^just  one  line  of  cold  friendship  at 
least  ?  She  then  allowed  herself  to  think,  little  by  little, 
whether  she  had  not  perhaps  been  too  harsh  with  him ; 
and  at  last  wondered  if  he  were  really  much  to  blame 
for  being  engaged  to  another  woman.  '  Ah,  Brain,  there 
is  one  in  me  stronger  than  you  ! '  she  said.  The  young 
maid  now  continually  pulled  out  his  letter,  read  it  and 
re-read  it,  almost  crying  with  pity  the  while,  to  think 
what  wretched  suspense  he  must  be  enduring  at  her 
silence,  till  her  heart  chid  her  for  her  cruelty.  She  felt 
that  she  must  send  him  a  line — one  little  line — ^just  a 
wee  line  to  keep  him  alive,  poor  thing ;  sighing  like 
Donna  Clara — 

'  Ah,  were  he  now  before  me, 
In  spite  of  injured  pride, 
I  fear  my  eyes  would  pardon 
Before  my  tongue  could  chide.' 


2.  September  the  Twentieth.    Three  to  Four  p.m. 

It  was  the  third  week  in  September,  about  five  weeks 
after  Cytherea's  arrival,  when  Miss  Aldclyffe  requested 
her  one  day  to  go  through  the  village  of  Carriford  and 
assist  herself  in  collecting  the  subscriptions  made  by 
some  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  parish  to  a  religious 
society  she  patronized.  Miss  Aldclyffe  formed  one  of 
what  was  called  a  Ladies'  Association,  each  member  of 
which  collected  tributary  streams  of  shillings  from  her 
inferiors,  to  add  to  her  own  pound  at  the  end. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  took  particular  interest  in  Cytherea's 
appearance  that  afternoon,  and  the  object  of  her  atten- 
136 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

tion  was,  indeed,  gratifying  to  look  at.  The  sight  of 
the  lithe  girl,  set  off  by  an  airy  dress,  coquettish  jacket, 
flexible  hat,  a  ray  of  starlight  in  each  eye  and  a  war  of 
lilies  and  roses  in  each  cheek,  was  a  palpaple  pleasure 
to  the  mistress  of  the  mansion,  yet  a  pleasure  which 
appeared  to  partake  less  of  the  nature  of  affectionate 
satisfaction  than  of  mental  gratification. 

Eight  names  were  printed  in  the  report  as  belonging 
to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  list,  with  the  amount  of  subscription- 
money  attached  to  each. 

•  I  will  collect  the  first  four,  whilst  you  do  the  same 
with  the  last  four,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

The  names  of  two  tradespeople  stood  first  in 
Cytherea's  share :  then  came  a  Miss  Hinton  :  last  of 
all  in  the  printed  list  was  Mr.  Springrove  the  elder. 
Underneath  his  name  was  pencilled,  in  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
handwriting,  '  Mr.  Manston.' 

Manston  had  arrived  on  the  estate,  in  the  capacity  of 
steward,  three  or  four  days  previously,  and  occupied  the 
old  manor-house,  which  had  been  altered  and  repaired 
for  his  reception. 

'  Call  on  Mr.  Manston,'  said  the  lady  impressively, 
looking  at  the  name  written  under  Cytherea's  portion 
of  the  list. 

'  But  he  does  not  subscribe  yet  ? ' 

'  I  know  it ;  but  call  and  leave  him  a  report.  Don't 
forget  it.' 

•  Say  you  would  be  pleased  if  he  would  subscribe  ?  ' 

•  Yes — say  I  should  be  pleased  if  he  would,'  repeated 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  smiling.  '  Good-bye.  Don't  hurry  in 
your  walk.  If  you  can't  get  easily  through  your  task 
to-day  put  off  some  of  it  till  to-morrow.' 

Each  then  started  on  her  rounds  :  Cytherea  going  in 
the  first  place  to  the  old  manor-house.  Mr.  Manston 
v.'as  not  indoors,  which  was  a  relief  to  her.  She  called 
then  on  the  two  gentleman-farmers'  wivts,  who  soon 
transacted  their  business  with  her,  frigidly  indifferent  to 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

her  personality.  A  person  who  socially  is  nothing  is 
thought  less  of  by  people  who  are  not  much  than  by 
those  who  are  a  great  deal. 

She  then  turned  towards  Peakhill  Cottage,  the  resi- 
dence of  Miss  Hinton,  who  lived  there  happily  enough, 
with  an  elderly  servant  and  a  house-dog  as  companions. 
Her  father,  and  last  remaining  parent,  had  retired 
thither  four  years  before  this  time,  after  having  filled 
the  post  of  editor  to  the  Casterbridge  Chronicle  for 
eighteen  or  twenty  years.  There  he  died  soon  after, 
and  though  comparatively  a  poor  man,  he  left  his 
daughter  sufficiently  well  provided  for  as  a  modest 
fundholder  and  claimant  of  sundry  small  sums  in  divi- 
dends to  maintain  herself  as  mistress  at  Peakhill. 

At  Cytherea's  knock  an  inner  door  was  heard  to 
open  and  close,  and  footsteps  crossed  the  passage  hesi- 
tatingly. The  next  minute  Cytherea  stood  face  to  face 
with  the  lady  herself. 

Adelaide  Hinton  was  about  nine-and-twenty  years  of 
age.  Her  hair  was  plentiful,  like  Cytherea's  own ;  her 
teeth  equalled  Cytherea's  in  regularity  and  whiteness. 
But  she  was  much  paler,  and  had  features  too  trans- 
parent to  be  in  place  among  household  surroundings. 
Her  mouth  expressed  love  less  forcibly  than  Cytherea's, 
and,  as  a  natural  result  of  her  greater  maturity,  her  tread 
was  less  elastic,  and  she  was  more  self-possessed. 

She  had  been  a  girl  of  that  kind  which  mothers  praise 
as  not  forward,  by  way  of  contrast,  when  disparaging 
those  warmer  ones  with  whom  loving  is  an  end  and 
not  a  means.  Men  of  forty,  too,  said  of  her,  '  a  good 
sensible  wife  for  any  man,  if  she  cares  to  marry,'  the 
caring  to  marry  being  thrown  in  as  the  vaguest  hypothesis, 
because  she  was  so  practical.  Yet  it  would  be  singular 
if,  in  such  cases,  the  important  subject  of  marriage 
should  be  excluded  from  manipulation  by  hands  that 
are  ready  for  practical  performance  in  every  domestic 
concern  besides. 

138 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Cytherea  was  an  acquisition,  and  the  greeting  was 
hearty. 

*  Good  afternoon  !  O  yes — Miss  Graye,  from  Miss 
Aldclyffe's.  I  have  seen  you  at  church,  and  I  am  so 
glad  you  have  called  !  Come  in.  I  wonder  if  I  have 
change  enough  to  pay  my  subscription.'  She  spoke 
girlishly. 

Adelaide,  when  in  the  company  of  a  younger  woman, 
always  levelled  herself  down  to  that  younger  woman's 
age  from  a  sense  of  justice  to  herself — as  if,  though  not 
her  own  age  at  common  law,  it  was  in  equity. 

*  It  doesn't  matter.     I'll  come  again.' 

*  Yes,  do  at  any  time ;  not  only  on  this  errand.  But 
you  must  step  in  for  a  minute.     Do.' 

*  I  have  been  wanting  to  come  for  several  weeks.' 

'  That's  right.  Now  you  must  see  my  house — 
lonely,  isn't  it,  for  a  single  person  ?  People  said  it 
was  odd  for  a  young  woman  like  me  to  keep  on  a 
house ;  but  what  did  I  care  ?  If  you  knew  the  pleasure 
of  locking  up  your  own  door,  with  the  sensation  that 
you  reigned  supreme  inside  it,  you  would  say  it  was 
worth  the  risk  of  being  called  odd.  Mr.  Springrove 
attends  to  my  gardening,  the  dog  attends  to  robbers, 
and  whenever  there  is  a  snake  or  toad  to  kill,  Jane 
does  it.' 

'  How  nice !     It  is  better  than  living  in  a  town.' 

'  Far  better,     A  town  makes  a  cynic  of  me.' 

The  remark  recalled,  somewhat  startlingly,  to  Cyth- 
erea's  mind,  that  Edward  had  used  those  very  words 
to  herself  one  evening  at  Budmouth. 

Miss  Hinton  opened  an  interior  door  and  led  her 
visitor  into  a  small  drawing-room  commanding  a  view 
of  the  country  for  miles. 

The  missionary  business  was  soon  .settled  ;  but  the 
chat  continued. 

'  How    lonely    it    must    be    here    at    night  I '    said 
Cytherea.     '  Aren't  you  afraid  ?  ' 
139 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  At  first  I  was,  slightly.  But  I  got  used  to  the 
solitude.  And  you  know  a  sort  of  common-sense  will 
creep  even  into  timidity.  I  say  to  myself  sometimes 
at  night,  "  If  I  were  anybody  but  a  harmless  woman, 
not  worth  the  trouble  of  a  worm's  ghost  to  appear  to 
me,  I  should  think  that  every  sound  I  hear  was  a 
spirit."     But  you  must  see  all  over  my  house.' 

Cytherea  was  highly  interested  in  seeing. 

'  I  say  you  m7ist  do  this,  and  you  must  do  that,  as 
if  you  were  a  child,'  remarked  Adelaide.  '  A  privileged 
friend  of  mine  tells  me  this  use  of  the  imperative  comes 
of  being  so  constantly  in  nobody's  society  but  my  own.' 

'  Ah,  yes.     I  suppose  she  is  right.' 

Cytherea  called  the  friend  *  she '  by  a  rule  of  lady- 
like practice ;  for  a  woman's  *  friend '  is  delicately 
assumed  by  another  friend  to  be  of  their  own  sex  in 
the  absence  of  knowledge  to  the  contrary;  just  as  cats 
are  called  she's  until  they  prove  themselves  he's. 

Miss  Hinton  laughed  mysteriously. 

*  I  get  a  humorous  reproof  for  it  now  and  then,  I 
assure  you,'  she  continued. 

'"Humorous  reproof:"  that's  not  from  a  woman: 
who  can  reprove  humorously  but  a  man  ? '  was  the 
groove  of  Cytherea's  thought  at  the  remark.  *  Your 
brother  reproves  you,  I  expect,'  said  that  innocent 
young  lady. 

'  No,'  said  Miss  Hinton,  with  a  candid  air.  '  'Tis 
only  a  professional  man  I  am  acquainted  with.'  She 
looked  out  of  the  window. 

Women  are  persistently  imitative.  No  sooner  did 
a  thought  flash  through  Cytherea's  mind  that  the  man 
was  a  lover  than  she  became  a  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  a 
mild  form. 

'  I  imagine  he's  a  lover,'  she  said. 

Miss  Hinton  smiled  a  smile  of  experience  in  that 
line. 

Few  women,  if  taxed  with  having  an  admirer,  are 
140 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

SO  free  from  vanity  as  to  deny  the  impeachment,  even 
if  it  is  utterly  untrue.  When  it  does  happen  to  be  true, 
they  look  pityingly  away  from  the  person  who  is  so 
benighted  as  to  have  got  no  further  than  suspecting  it. 

'  There  now — Miss  Hinton  ;  you  are  engaged  to  be 
married  ! '  said  Cytherea  accusingly. 

Adelaide  nodded  her  head  practically.  '  Well,  yes, 
I  am,'  she  said. 

The  word  '  engaged  '  had  no  sooner  passed  Cytherea's 
lips  than  the  sound  of  it — the  mere  sound  of  her  own 
lips — carried  her  mind  to  the  time  and  circumstances 
under  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  used  it  towards  herself. 
A  sickening  thought  followed — based  but  on  a  mere 
surmise;  yet  its  presence  took  every  other  idea  away 
from  Cytherea's  mind.  Miss  Hinton  had  used  Edward's 
words  about  towns ;  she  mentioned  Mr.  Springrove  as 
attending  to  her  garden.  It  could  not  be  that  Edward 
was  the  man  !  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  planned  to  reveal 
her  rival  thus  ! 

'  Are  you  going  to  be  married  soon  ?  '  she  inquired, 
with  a  steadiness  the  result  of  a  sort  of  fascination,  but 
apparently  of  indifference. 

'  Not  very  soon — still,  soon.' 

'  Ah — ha !  In  less  than  three  months  ? '  said 
Cytherea. 

'  Two.' 

Now  that  the  subject  was  well  in  hand,  Adelaide 
wanted  no  more  prompting.  '  You  won't  tell  any- 
body if  I  show  you  something  ?  '  she  said,  with  eager 
mystery. 

'  O  no,  nobody.     But  does  he  live  in  this  parish  ? ' 

•No.' 

Nothing  proved  yet. 

'  What's  his  name  ? '  said  Cytherea  flatly.  Her 
breath  and  heart  had  begun  their  old  tricks,  and 
came  and  went  hotly.  Miss  Hinton  could  not  see 
her  face. 

MI 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  What  do  you  think  ? '  said  Miss  Hinton. 

'  George  ?  '  said  Cytherea,  with  deceitful  agony. 

'  No,'  said  Adelaide.  '  But  now,  you  shall  see 
him  first ;  come  here ; '  and  she  led  the  way  upstairs 
into  her  bedroom.  There,  standing  on  the  dressing- 
table  in  a  little  frame,  was  the  unconscious  portrait  of 
Edward  Springrove. 

*  There  he  is,'  Miss  Hinton  said,  and  a  silence 
ensued. 

'  Are  you  very  fond  of  him  ?  '  continued  the  miser- 
able Cytherea  at  length. 

'Yes,  of  course  I  am,'  her  companion  replied,  but 
in  the  tone  of  one  who  '  lived  in  Abraham's  bosom  all 
the  year,'  and  was  therefore  untouched  by  solemn 
thought  at  the  fact.  '  He'r,  my  cousin — a  native  of 
this  village.  We  were  engaged  before  my  father's  death 
left  me  so  lonely.  I  was  only  twenty,  and  a  much 
greater  belle  than  I  am  now.  We  know  each  other 
thoroughly,  as  you  may  imagine.  I  give  him  a  little 
sermonizing  now  and  then.' 

'  Why  ? ' 

'  O,  it's  only  in  fun.  He's  very  naughty  sometimes 
— not  really,  you  know — but  he  will  look  at  any  pretty 
face  when  he  sees  it.' 

Storing  up  this  statement  of  his  susceptibility  as 
another  item  to  be  miserable  upon  when  she  had  time, 
*  How  do  you  know  that  ? '  Cytherea  asked,  with  a 
swelling  heart. 

'  Well,  you  know  how  things  do  come  to  women's  ears. 
He  used  to  live  at  Budmouth  as  an  assistant-architect, 
and  I  found  out  that  a  young  giddy  thing  of  a  girl 
who  lives  there  somewhere  took  his  fancy  for  a  day  or 
two.  But  I  don't  feel  jealous  at  all — our  engagement 
is  so  matter-of-fact  that  neither  of  us  can  be  jealous. 
And  it  was  a  mere  flirtation — she  was  too  silly  for  him. 
He's  fond  of  rowing,  and  kindly  gave  her  an  airing 
for  an  evening  or  two.  I'll  warrant  they  talked  the 
142 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

most  unmitigated  rubbish  under  the  sun — all  shallow- 
ness and  pastime,  just  as  everything  is  at  watering- 
places — neither  of  them  caring  a  bit  for  the  other — she 

giggling  like  a  goose  all  the  time ' 

Concentrated  essence  of  woman  pervaded  the  room 
rather  than  air.  'She  didn't!  and  it  wasn't  shallow- 
ness ! '  Cytherea  burst  out,  with  brimming  eyes.  '  'Twas 
deep  deceit  on  one  side,  and  entire  confidence  on  the 
other — yes,  it  was  ! '  The  pent-up  emotion  had  swollen 
and  swollen  inside  the  young  thing  till  the  dam  could 
no  longer  embay  it.  The  instant  the  words  were  out 
she  would  have  given  worlds  to  have  been  able  to 
recall  them. 

'  Do  you  know  her — or  him  ?  '  said  Miss  Hinton, 
starting  with  suspicion  at  the  warmth  shown. 

The  two  rivals  had  now  lost  their  personality 
quite.  There  was  the  same  keen  brightness  of  eye, 
the  same  movement  of  the  mouth,  the  same  mind  in 
both,  as  they  looked  doubtingly  and  excitedly  at  each 
other.  As  is  invariably  the  case  with  women  when  a 
man  they  care  for  is  the  subject  of  an  excitement  among 
them,  the  situation  abstracted  the  differences  which 
distinguished  them  as  individuals,  and  left  only  the 
properties  common  to  them  as  atoms  of  a  sex. 

Cytherea  caught  at  the  chance  afforded  her  of  not 
betraying  herself     <  Yes,  I  know  her,'  she  said. 

'  Well,'  said  Miss  Hinton,  '  I  am  really  vexed  if  my 
speaking  so  lightly  of  any  friend  of  yours  has  hurt  your 
feelings,  but ' 

'  O,  never  mind,'  Cytherea  returned ;  '  it  doesn't 
matter.  Miss  Hinton.  I  think  I  nmst  leave  you  now. 
I  have  to  call  at  other  places.     Yes — I  must  go.' 

Miss  Hinton,  in  a  perplexed  state  of  mind,  showed 
her  visitor  politely  downstairs  to  the  door.  Here 
Cytherea  bade  her  a  hurried  adieu,  and  flitted  down 
the  garden  into  the  lane. 

She  persevered  in  her  duties  with  a  wayward  plea- 
143 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


sure  in  giving  herself  misery,  as  was  her  wont.  Mr. 
Springiove's  name  was  next  on  the  hst,  and  she  turned 
towards  his  dwelling,  the  Three  Tranters  Inn. 


3.  Four  to  Five  p.m. 

The  cottages  along  Carriford  village  street  were  not 
so  close  but  that  on  one  side  or  other  of  the  road  was 
always  a  hedge  of  hawthorn  or  privet,  over  or  through 
which  could  be  seen  gardens  or  orchards  rich  with  pro- 
duce. It  was  about  the  middle  of  the  early  apple- 
harvest,  and  the  laden  trees  were  shaken  at  intervals  by 
the  gatherers ;  the  soft  pattering  of  the  falling  crop 
upon  the  grassy  ground  being  diversified  by  the  loud 
rattle  of  vagrant  ones  upon  a  rail,  hencoop,  basket,  or 
lean-to  roof,  or  upon  the  rounded  and  stooping  backs  of 
the  collectors — mostly  children,  who  would  have  cried 
bitterly  at  receiving  such  a  smart  blow  from  any  other 
quarter,  but  smilingly  assumed  it  to  be  but  fun  in 
apples. 

The  Three  Tranters  Inn,  a  many-gabled,  mediaeval 
building,  constructed  almost  entirely  of  timber,  plaster, 
and  thatch,  stood  close  to  the  line  of  the  roadside, 
almost  opposite  the  churchyard,  and  was  connected 
with  a  row  of  cottages  on  the  left  by  thatched  outbuild- 
ings. It  was  an  uncommonly  characteristic  and  hand- 
some specimen  of  the  genuine  roadside  inn  of  bygone 
times ;  and  standing  on  one  of  the  great  highways  in 
this  part  of  England,  had  in  its  time  been  the  scene  of 
as  much  of  what  is  now  looked  upon  as  the  romantic 
and  genial  experience  of  stage-coach  travelling  as  any 
halting-place  in  the  country.  The  railway  had  absorbed 
the  whole  stream  of  traffic  which  formerly  flowed  through 
the  village  and  along  by  the  ancient  door  of  the  inn, 
reducing  the  empty-handed  landlord,  who  used  only  to 
farm  a  few  fields  at  the  back  of  the  house,  to  the  neces- 
144 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

sity  of  eking  out  his  attenuated  income  by  increasing 
the  extent  of  his  agricultural  business  if  he  would  still 
maintain  his  social  standing.  Next  to  the  general  still- 
ness pervading  the  spot,  the  long  line  of  outbuildings 
adjoining  the  house  was  the  most  striking  and  sadden- 
ing witness  to  the  passed-away  fortunes  of  the  Three 
Tranters  Inn.  It  was  the  bulk  of  the  original  stabling, 
and  where  once  the  hoofs  of  two-score  horses  had  daily 
rattled  over  the  stony  yard,  to  and  from  the  stalls  within, 
thick  grass  now  grew,  whilst  the  line  of  roofs — once  so 
straight — over  the  decayed  stalls,  had  sunk  into  vast 
hollows  till  they  seemed  like  the  cheeks  of  toothless  age. 

On  a  green  plot  at  the  other  end  of  the  building 
grew  two  or  three  large,  wide-spreading  elm-trees,  from 
which  the  sign  was  suspended  — representing  the  three 
men  called  tranters  (irregular  carriers),  standing  side  by 
side,  and  exactly  alike  to  a  hair's-breadth,  the  grain  of 
the  wood  and  joints  of  the  boards  being  visible  through 
the  thin  paint  depicting  their  forms,  which  were  still 
further  disfigured  by  red  stains  running  downwards  from 
the  rusty  nails  above. 

Under  the  trees  now  stood  a  cider-mill  and  press, 
and  upon  the  spot  sheltered  by  the  boughs  were  gathered 
Mr.  Springrove  himself,  his  men,  the  parish  clerk,  two 
or  three  other  men,  grinders  and  supernumeraries,  a 
woman  with  an  infant  in  her  arms,  a  flock  of  pigeons, 
and  some  little  boys  with  straws  in  their  mouths,  en- 
deavouring, whenever  the  men's  backs  were  turned,  to 
get  a  sip  of  the  sweet  juice  issuing  from  the  vat. 

Edward  Springrove  the  elder,  the  landlord,  now  more 
particularly  a  farmer,  and  for  two  months  in  the  year 
a  cider-maker,  was  an  employer  of  labour  of  the  old 
school,  who  worked  himself  among  his  men.  He  was 
now  engaged  in  packing  the  pomace  into  horsehair 
bags  with  a  rammer,  and  Gad  Weedy,  his  man,  was 
occupied  in  shovelling  up  more  from  a  tub  at  his  side. 
The  shovel  shone  like  silver  from  the  action  of  the  juice, 
IAS  K 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

and  ever  and  anon,  in  its  motion  to  and  fro,  caught  the 
rays  of  the  declining  sun  and  reflected  them  in  bristUng 
stars  of  light. 

Mr.  Springrove  had  been  too  young  a  man  when  the 
pristine  days  of  the  Three  Tranters  had  departed  for 
ever  to  have  much  of  the  host  left  in  him  now.  He 
was  a  poet  with  a  rough  skin :  one  whose  sturdiness 
was  more  the  result  of  external  circumstances  than  of 
intrinsic  nature.  Too  kindly  constituted  to  be  very 
provident,  he  was  yet  not  imprudent.  He  had  a  quiet 
humorousness  of  disposition,  not  out  of  keeping  with  a 
frequent  melancholy,  the  general  expression  of  his  coun- 
tenance being  one  of  abstraction.  Like  Walt  Whitman 
he  felt  as  his  years  increased — 

'  I  foresee  too  much  ;  it  means  more  than  I  thought' 

On  the  present  occasion  he  wore  gaiters  and  a 
leathern  apron,  and  worked  with  his  shirt-sleeves  rolled 
up  beyond  his  elbows,  disclosing  solid  and  fleshy  rather 
than  muscular  arms.  They  were  stained  by  the  cider, 
and  two  or  three  brown  apple-pips  from  the  pomace  he 
was  handling  were  to  be  seen  sticking  on  them  here 
and  there. 

The  other  prominent  figure  was  that  of  Richard 
Crickett,  the  parish  clerk,  a  kind  of  Bowdlerized  rake, 
who  ate  only  as  much  as  a  woman,  and  had  the 
rheumatism  in  his  left  hand.  The  remainder  of  the 
group,  brown-faced  peasants,  wore  smock-frocks  em- 
broidered on  the  shoulders  with  hearts  and  diamonds, 
and  were  girt  round  their  middle  with  a  strap,  another 
being  worn  round  the  right  wrist. 

*  And  have  you  seen  the  steward,  Mr.  Springrove  ? ' 
said  the  clerk. 

'  Just  a  glimpse  of  him ;  but  'twas  just  enough  to 
show  me  that  he's  not  here  for  long.' 

'  Why  mid  that  be  ? ' 

146 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

.     '  He'll  never  stand  the  vagaries  of  the  female  figure 
holden  the  reins — not  he.' 

'  She  d'  pay  en  well,'  said  a  grinder ;  '  and  money  's 
money.' 

'  Ah — 'tis  :  very  much  so,'  the  clerk  replied. 

'Yes,  yes,  naibour  Crickett,'  said  Springrove,  'but 
she'll  vlee  in  a  passion — all  the  fat  will  be  in  the  fire — 
and  there's  an  end  o't.  .  .  .  Yes,  she  is  a  one,'  con- 
tinued the  farmer,  resting,  raising  his  eyes,  and  reading 
the  features  of  a  distant  apple. 

'  She  is,'  said  Gad,  resting  too  (it  is  wonderful  how 
prompt  a  journeyman  is  in  following  his  master's  initi- 
ative to  rest)  and  reflectively  regarding  the  ground  in 
front  of  him. 

'  True :  a  one  is  she,'  the  clerk  chimed  in,  shaking 
his  head  ominously. 

'  She  has  such  a  temper,'  said  the  farmer,  '  and  is  so 
wilful  too.  You  may  as  well  try  to  stop  a  footpath 
as  stop  her  when  she  has  taken  anything  into  her 
head.  I'd  as  soon  grind  little  green  crabs  all  day  as 
live  wi'  her.' 

'  'Tis  a  temper  she  hev,  'tis,'  the  clerk  replied,  '  though 
I  be  a  servant  of  the  Church  that  say  it.  But  she  isn't 
goen  to  flee  in  a  passion  this  time.' 

The  audience  waited  for  the  continuation  of  the 
speech,  as  if  they  knew  from  experience  the  exact  dis- 
tance off  it  lay  in  the  future. 

The  clerk  swallowed  nothing  as  if  it  were  a  great 
deal,  and  then  went  on,  '  There's  some'at  between  'em  : 
mark  my  words,  naibours — there's  some'at  between  'em.' 

'  D'ye  mean  it  ?  ' 

'  I  d'  know  it.     He  came  last  Saturday,  didn't  he  ?  ' 

"A  did,  truly,'  said  Gad  Weedy,  at  the  same  time 
taking  an  apple  from  the  hopper  of  the  mill,  eating  a 
piece,  and  flinging  back  the  remainder  to  be  ground  up 
for  cider. 

'  He  went  to  church  a-Sunday,'  said  the  clerk  again. 
147 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  'A  did.' 

'  And  she  kept  her  eye  upon  en  all ,  the  service,  her 
face  flickeren  between  red  and  white,  but  never  stoppen 
at  either.' 

Mr.  Springrove  nodded,  and  went  to  the  press. 

'  Well,'  said  the  clerk,  '  you  don't  call  her  the  kind 
o'  woman  to  make  mistakes  in  just  trotten  through  the 
weekly  service  o'  God?  Why,  as  a  rule  she's  as  right 
as  I  be  myself.' 

Mr.  Springrove  nodded  again,  and  gave  a  twist  to 
the  screw  of  the  press,  followed  in  the  movement  by  Gad 
at  the  other  side ;  the  two  grinders  expressing  by  looks 
of  the  greatest  concern  that,  if  Miss  Aldclyffe  were  as 
right  at  church  as  the  clerk,  she  must  be  right  indeed. 

•  Yes,  as  right  in  the  senice  o'  God  as  I  be  myself,' 
repeated  the  clerk.  *  But  last  Sunday,  when  we  were  in 
the  tenth  commandment,  says  she,  "  Incline  our  hearts 
to  keep  this  law,"  says  she,  when  'twas  "  Laws  in  our 
hearts,  we  beseech  Thee,"  all  the  church  through.  Her 
eye  was  upon  hitn — she  was  quite  lost — "  Hearts  to  keep 
this  law,"  says  she ;  she  was  no  more  than  a  mere 
shadder  at  that  tenth  time — a  mere  shadder.  You 
mi't  ha'  mouthed  across  to  her  '*  Laws  in  our  hearts  we 
beseech  Thee,"  fifty  times  over — she'd  never  ha'  noticed 
ye.     She's  in  love  wi'  the  man,  that's  what  she  is.' 

'  Then  she's  a  bigger  stunpoU  than  I  took  her  for,' 
said  Mr.  Springrove.  '  Why,  she's  old  enough  to  be 
his  mother.' 

'  The  row'U  be  between  her  and  that  young  Curly- 
wig,  you'll  see.  She  won't  run  the  risk  of  that  pretty 
face  been  near.' 

•  Clerk  Crickett,  I  d'  fancy  you  d'  know  everything 
about  everybody,'  said  Gad. 

'  Well  so's,'  said  the  clerk  modestly,  '  I  do  know  a 
little.     It  comes  to  me.' 

'  And  I  d'  know  where  from.' 
•Ah.' 

148 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'That  wife  o'  thine.  She's  an  entertainen  woman, 
not  to  speak  disrespectful.* 

'  She  is  :  and  a  winnen  one.  Look  at  the  husbands 
she've  had — God  bless  her  ! ' 

'  I  wonder  you  could  stand  third  in  that  list,  Clerk 
Crickett,'  said  Mr.  Springrove. 

'  Well,  't  has  been  a  power  o'  marvel  to  myself  often- 
times. Yes,  matrimony  do  begin  wi'  "  Dearly  beloved," 
and  ends  wi'  "  Amazement,"  as  the  prayer-book  says. 
But  what  could  I  do,  naibour  Springrove?  'Twas 
ordained  to  be.  Well  do  I  call  to  mind  what  your 
poor  lady  said  to  me  when  I  had  just  married.  "Ah, 
Mr.  Crickett,"  says  she,  "  your  wife  will  soon  settle  you 
as  she  did  her  other  two  :  here's  a  glass  o'  rum,  for 
I  shan't  see  your  poor  face  this  time  next  year."  I 
swallered  the  rum,  called  again  next  year,  and  said, 
"  Mrs.  Springrove,  you  gave  me  a  glass  o'  rum  last  year 
because  I  was  going  to  die — here  I  be  aiive  still,  you 
see."  "  Well  said,  clerk !  Here's  two  glasses  for  you 
now,  then,"  says  she.  "  Thank  you,  mem,"  I  said,  and 
swallered  the  rum.  Well,  dang  my  old  sides,  next  year 
I  thought  I'd  call  again  and  get  three.  And  call  I  did. 
But  she  wouldn't  give  me  a  drop  o'  the  commonest. 
"  No,  clerk,"  says  she,  "  you  be  too  tough  for  a 
woman's  pit}'."  .  .  .  Ah,  poor  soul,  'twas  true  enough  ! 
Here  be  I,  that  was  expected  to  die,  alive  and  hard 
as  a  nail,  you  see,  and  there's  she  moulderen  in  her 
grave.' 

'  I  used  to  think  'twas  your  wife's  fate  not  to  have  a 
liven  husband  when  I  zid  'em  die  off  so,'  said  Gad. 

'  Fate  ?  Bless  thy  simplicity,  so  'twas  her  fate ;  but 
she  struggled  to  have  one,  and  would,  and  did.  Fate's 
nothen  beside  a  woman's  schemen  ! ' 

'  I  suppose,  then,  that  Fate  is  a  He,  like  us,  and  the 
Lord,  and  the  rest  o'  'em  up  above  there,'  said  Gad, 
lifting  his  eyes  to  the  sky. 

'  Hullo !     Here's  the  young  woman  comen  that  we 

^  149 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

were  a-talken  about  by-now,'  said  a  grinder,  suddenly 
interrupting.     '  She's  comen  up  here,  as  1  be  alive ! ' 

The  two  grinders  stood  and  regarded  Cytherea  as 
if  she  had  been  a  ship  tacking  into  a  harbour,  nearly 
stopping  the  mill  in  their  new  interest. 

'  Stylish  accoutrements  about  the  head  and  shoulders, 
to  my  thinken,'  said  the  clerk.  *  Sheenen  curls,  and 
plenty  o'  em.' 

'  If  there's  one  kind  of  pride  more  excusable  than 
another  in  a  young  woman,  'tis  being  proud  of  her  hair,' 
said  Mr.  Springrove. 

'  Dear  man  ! — the  pride  there  is  only  a  small  piece  o' 
the  whole.  I  warrant  now,  though  she  can  show  such 
a  figure,  she  ha'n't  a  stick  o'  furniture  to  call  her  own.' 

'  Come,  Clerk  Crickett,  let  the  maid  be  a  maid  while 
she  is  a  maid,'  said  Farmer  Springrove  chivalrously. 

'  O,'  replied  the  servant  of  the  Church ;  *  I've  nothen 
to  say  against  it — O  no : 

'  "  The  chimney-sweeper's  daughter  Sue 
As  I  have  heard  declare,  O, 
Although  she's  neither  sock  nor  shoe 
Will  curl  and  deck  her  hair,  O." ' 

Cytherea  was  rather  disconcerted  at  finding  that  the 
gradual  cessation  of  the  chopping  of  the  mill  was  on  her 
account,  and  still  more  when  she  saw  all  the  cider- 
makers'  eyes  fixed  upon  her  except  Mr.  Springrove's, 
whose  natural  delicacy  restrained  him.  She  neared  the 
plot  of  grass,  but  instead  of  advancing  further,  hesitated 
on  its  border. 

Mr.  Springrove  perceived  her  embarrassment,  which 
was  relieved  when  she  saw  his  old-established  figure 
coming  across  to  her,  wiping  his  hands  in  his  apron. 

'  I  know  your  errand,  missie,'  he  said,  '  and  am  glad 
to  see  you,  and  attend  to  it.     I'll  step  indoors.' 

*  If  you  are  busy  I  am  in  no  hurry  for  a  minute  or 
two,'  said  Cytherea. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  Then  if  so  be  you  really  wouldn't  mind,  we'll  wring 
down  this  last  filling  to  let  it  drain  all  night  ? ' 

'  Not  at  all.     I  like  to  see  you.' 

*  We  are  only  just  grinding  down  the  early  pickthongs 
and  griffins,'  continued  the  farmer,  in  a  half-apologetic 
tone  for  detaining  by  his  cider-making  any  well-dressed 
woman.  '  They  rot  as  black  as  a  chimney-crook  if  we 
keep  'em  till  the  regulars  turn  in.'  As  he  spoke  he 
went  back  to  the  press,  Cytherea  keeping  at  his  elbow. 
'  I'm  later  than  I  should  have  been  by  rights,'  he  con- 
tinued, taking  up  a  lever  for  propelling  the  screw,  and 
beckoning  to  the  men  to  come  forward.  *  The  truth  is, 
my  son  Edward  had  promised  to  come  to-day,  and  I 
made  preparations  ;  but  instead  of  him  comes  a  letter : 
"  London,  September  the  eighteenth,  Dear  Father," 
says  he,  and  went  on  to  tell  me  he  couldn't.  It  threw 
me  out  a  bit.' 

'  Of  course,'  said  Cytherea. 

'  He's  got  a  place  'a  b'lieve  ?  '  said  the  clerk,  drawing 
near. 

'  No,  poor  mortal  fellow,  no.  He  tried  for  this  one 
here,  you  know,  but  couldn't  manage  to  get  it.  I  don't 
know  the  rights  o'  the  matter,  but  willy-nilly  they  wouldn't 
have  him  for  steward.     Now  mates,  form  in  line.' 

Springrove,  the  clerk,  the  grinders,  and  Gad,  all 
ranged  themselves  behind  the  lever  of  the  screw,  and 
walked  round  like  soldiers  wheeling. 

'  The  man  that  the  old  quean  hev  got  is  a  man  you 
can  hardly  get  upon  your  tongue  to  gainsay,  by  the  look 
o'  en,'  rejoined  Clerk  Crickett. 

'  One  o'  them  people  that  can  contrive  to  be  thought 
no  worse  o'  for  stealen  a  horse  than  another  man  for 
looken  over  hedge  at  en,'  said  a  grinder. 

'Well,  he's  all  there  as  steward,  and  is  quite  the 
gentleman — no  doubt  about  that.' 

'  So  would  my  Ted  ha'  been,  for  the  matter  o'  that,' 
the  farmer  said. 

1=51 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  That's  true  :  'a  would,  sir.' 

'  I  said,  I'll  give  Ted  a  good  education  if  it  do  cost 
me  my  eyes,  and  I  would  have  done  it.' 

'  Ay,  that  you  would  so,'  said  the  chorus  of  assistants 
solemnly. 

'  But  he  took  to  books  and  drawing  naturally,  and 
cost  very  little ;  and  as  a  wind-up  the  women  folk 
hatched  up  a  match  between  him  and  his  cousin.' 

'  When's  the  wedden  to  be,  Mr.  Springrove  ? ' 

'  Uncertain— but  soon,  I  suppose.  Edward,  you  see, 
can  do  anything  pretty  nearly,  and  yet  can't  get  a 
straightforward  living.  I  wish  sometimes  I  had  kept 
him  here,  and  let  professions  go.  But  he  was  such  a 
one  for  the  pencil.' 

He  dropped  the  lever  in  the  hedge,  and  turned  to  his 
visitor. 

'  Now  then,  missie,  if  you'll  come  indoors,  please.' 

Gad  Weedy  looked  with  a  placid  criticism  at  Cytherea 
as  she  withdrew  with  the  farmer. 

'I  could  tell  by  the  tongue  o'  her  that  she  didn't 
take  her  degrees  in  our  county,'  he  said  in  an  undertone. 

*  The  railways  have  left  you  lonely  here,'  she  observed, 
when  they  were  indoors. 

Save  the  withered  old  flies,  which  were  quite  tame 
from  the  solitude,  not  a  being  was  in  the  house.  No- 
body seemed  to  have  entered  it  since  the  last  passenger 
had  been  called  out  to  mount  the  last  stage-coach  that 
had  run  by. 

'  Yes,  the  Inn  and  I  seem  almost  a  pair  of  fossils,' 
the  farmer  replied,  looking  at  the  room  and  then  at 
himself 

<  O,  Mr.  Springrove,'  said  Cytherea,  suddenly  recol- 
lecting herself;  'I  am  much  obliged  to  you  for  recom- 
mending me  to  Miss  Aldclyffe.'  She  began  to  warm 
towards  the  old  man  ;  there  was  in  him  a  gentleness  of 
disposition  which  reminded  her  of  her  own  father. 
152 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'Recommending?  Not  at  all,  miss.  Ted — that's 
my  son — Ted  said  a  fellow-draughtsman  of  his  had  a 
sister  who  wanted  to  be  doing  something  in  the  world, 
and  I  mentioned  it  to  the  housekeeper,  that's  all.  Ay, 
I  miss  my  son  very  much.' 

She  kept  her  back  to  the  window  that  he  might  not 
see  her  rising  colour. 

*  Yes,'  he  continued,  '  sometimes  I  can't  help  feeling 
uneasy  about  him.  You  know,  he  seems  not  made  for 
a  town  life  exactly :  he  gets  very  queer  over  it  some- 
times, I  think.  Perhaps  he'll  be  better  when  he's 
married  to  Adelaide.' 

A  half-impatient  feeling  arose  in  her,  like  that  which 
possesses  a  sick  person  when  he  hears  a  recently-struck 
hour  struck  again  by  a  slow  clock.  She  had  lived 
further  on. 

'  Everything  depends  upon  whether  he  loves  her,'  she 
said  tremulously. 

'  He  used  to — he  doesn't  show  it  so  much  now ;  but 
that's  because  he's  older.  You  see,  it  was  several  years 
ago  they  first  walked  together  as  young  man  and  young 
woman.  She's  altered  too  from  what  she  was  when  he 
first  courted  her.' 

'  How,  sir  ?  ' 

'  O,  she's  more  sensible  by  half.  When  he  used  to 
write  to  her  she'd  creep  up  the  lane  and  look  back  over 
her  shoulder,  and  slide  out  the  letter,  and  read  a  word 
and  stand  in  thought  looking  at  the  hills  and  seeing  none. 
Then  the  cuckoo  would  cry — away  the  letter  would  slip, 
and  she'd  start  wi'  fright  at  the  mere  bird,  and  have  a 
red  skin  before  the  quickest  man  among  ye  could  say, 
"  Blood  rush  up."  ' 

He  came  forward  with  the  money  and  dropped  it 
into  her  hand.  His  thoughts  were  still  with  Edward, 
and  he  absently  took  her  little  fingers  in  his  as  he  said, 
earnestly  and  ingenuously — 

'  'Tis  so  seldom  I  get  a  gentlewoman  to  speak  to 
153 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

that  I  can't  help  speaking  to  you,  Miss  Graye,  on  my 
fears  for  Edward  ;  I  sometimes  am  afraid  that  he'll  never 
get  on — that  he'll  die  poor  and  despised  under  the  worst 
mental  conditions,  a  keen  sense  of  having  been  passed 
in  the  race  by  men  whose  brains  are  nothing  to  his  own, 
all  through  his  seeing  too  far  into  things — being  discon- 
tented with  make-shifts — thinking  o'  perfection  in  things, 
and  then  sickened  that  there's  no  such  thing  as  per- 
fection. I  shan't  be  sorry  to  see  him  marry,  since  it  may 
settle  him  down  and  do  him  good.  .  .  .  Ay,  we'll  hope 
for  the  best.' 

He  let  go  her  hand  and  accompanied  her  to  the  door 
saying,  '  If  you  should  care  to  walk  this  way  and  talk  to 
an  old  man  once  now  and  then,  it  will  be  a  great  delight 
to  him,  Miss  Graye.  Good-evening  to  ye.  .  .  .  Ah 
look !  a  thunderstorm  is  brewing — be  quick  home.  Or 
shall  I  step  up  with  you  ? ' 

'  No,  thank  you,  Mr.  Springrove.  Good  evening,' 
she  said  in  a  low  voice,  and  hurried  away.  One  thought 
still  possessed  her ;  Edward  had  trifled  with  her  love. 


4.  Five  to  Six  p.m. 

She  followed  the  road  into  a  bower  of  trees,  over- 
hanging it  so  densely  that  the  pass  appeared  like  a 
rabbit's  burrow,  and  presently  reached  a  side  entrance 
to  the  park.  The  clouds  rose  more  rapidly  than  the 
farmer  had  anticipated :  the  sheep  moved  in  a  trail,  and 
complained  incoherently.  Livid  grey  shades,  like  those 
of  the  modern  French  painters,  made  a  mystery  of  the 
remote  and  dark  parts  of  the  vista,  and  seemed  to  insist 
upon  a  suspension  of  breath.  Before  she  was  half-way 
across  the  park  the  thunder  rumbled  distinctly. 

The  direction  in  which  she  had  to  go  would  take  her 
close  by  the  old  manor-house.  The  air  was  perfectly 
still,  and  between  each  low  rumble  of  the  thunder  behind 
154 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

she  could  hear  the  roar  of  the  waterfall  before  her,  and 
the  creak  of  the  engine  among  the  bushes  hard  by  it. 
Hurrying  on,  with  a  growing  dread  of  the  gloom  and  of 
the  approaching  storm,  she  drew  near  the  Old  House, 
now  rising  before  her  against  the  dark  foliage  and  sky 
in  tones  of  strange  whiteness. 

On  the  flight  of  steps,  which  descended  from  a  terrace 
in  front  to  the  level  of  the  park,  stood  a  man.  He 
appeared,  partly  from  the  relief  the  position  gave  to  his 
figure,  and  partly  from  fact,  to  be  of  towering  height. 
He  was  dark  in  outline,  and  was  looking  at  the  sky,  with 
his  hands  behind  him. 

It  was  necessary  for  Cytherea  to  pass  directly  across  the 
line  of  his  front.  She  felt  so  reluctant  to  do  this,  that 
she  was  about  to  turn  under  the  trees  out  of  the  path 
and  enter  it  again  at  a  point  beyond  the  Old  House ; 
but  he  had  seen  her,  and  she  came  on  mechanically, 
unconsciously  averting  her  face  a  little,  and  dropping  her 
glance  to  the  ground. 

Her  eyes  unswervingly  lingered  along  the  path  until 
they  fell  upon  another  path  branching  in  a  right  line 
from  the  path  she  was  pursuing.  It  came  from  the 
steps  of  the  Old  House.  '  I  am  exactly  opposite  him 
now,'  she  thought,  '  and  his  eyes  are  going  through  me.' 

A  clear  masculine  voice  said,  at  the  same  instant — 

'  Are  you  afraid  ?  ' 

She,  interpreting  his  question  by  her  feelings  at  the 
moment,  assumed  himself  to  be  the  object  of  fear,  if 
any.     '  I  don't  think  I  am,'  she  stammered. 

He  seemed  to  know  that  she  thought  in  that  sense. 

'  Of  the  thunder,  I  mean,'  he  said  ;  '  not  of  myself.' 

She  must  turn  to  him  now.  '  I  think  it  is  going  to 
rain,'  she  remarked  for  the  sake  of  saying  something. 

He  could  not  conceal  his  surprise  and  admiration 
of  her  face  and  bearing.  He  said  courteously,  '  It  may 
possibly  not  rain  before  you  reach  the  House,  if  you 
are  going  there?' 

155 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'Yes,  I  am.' 

•  May  I  walk  up  with  you  ?  It  is ,  lonely  under  the 
trees.' 

'  No.'  Fearing  his  courtesy  arose  from  a  belief  that 
he  was  addressing  a  woman  of  higher  station  than  was 
hers,  she  added,  '  I  am  Miss  Aldclyffe's  companion.  I 
don't  mind  the  loneUness.' 

*  O,  Miss  Aldclyffe's  companion.  Then  will  you 
be  kind  enough  to  take  a  subscription  to  her?  She 
sent  to  me  this  afternoon  to  ask  me  to  become  a  sub- 
scriber to  her  Society,  and  I  was  out.  Of  course  I'll 
subscribe  if  she  wishes  it.  I  take  a  great  interest  in  the 
Society.' 

'  Miss  Aldclyffe  will  be  glad  to  hear  that,  I  know.' 

'Yes;  let  me  see — what  Society  did  she  say  it  was? 
I  am  afraid  I  haven't  enough  money  in  my  pocket,  and 
yet  it  would  be  a  satisfaction  to  her  to  have  practical 
proof  of  my  willingness.  I'll  get  it,  and  be  out  in  one 
minute.' 

He  entered  the  house  and  was  at  her  side  again 
within  the  time  he  had  named.  '  This  is  it,'  he  said 
pleasantly. 

She  held  up  her  hand.  The  soft  tips  of  his  fingers 
brushed  the  palm  of  her  glove  as  he  placed  the  money 
within  it.  She  wondered  why  his  fingers  should  have 
touched  her. 

'  I  think  after  all,'  he  continued,  '  that  the  rain  is 
upon  us,  and  will  drench  you  before  you  reach  the 
House.     Yes  :  see  there.' 

He  pointed  to  a  round  wet  spot  as  large  as  a  nastur- 
tium leaf,  which  had  suddenly  appeared  upon  the  white 
surface  of  the  step. 

'  You  had  better  come  into  the  porch.  It  is  not 
nearly  night  yet.  The  clouds  make  it  seem  later  than  it 
really  is.' 

Heavy  drops  of  rain,  followed  immediately  by  a 
forked  flash  of  lightning  and  sharp  rattling  thunder, 
,56 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

compelled  her,  willingly  or  no,  to  accept  his  invitation. 
She  ascended  the  steps,  stood  beside  him  just  within 
the  porch,  and  for  the  first  time  obtained  a  series  of 
short  views  of  his  person,  as  they  waited  there  in  silence. 

He  was  an  extremely  handsome  man,  well-formed, 
and  well-dressed,  of  an  age  which  seemed  to  be  two  or 
three  years  less  than  thirty.  The  most  striking  point 
in  his  appearance  was  the  wonderful,  almost  preter- 
natural, clearness  of  his  complexion.  There  was  not  a 
blemish  or  speck  of  any  kind  to  mar  the  smoothness  of 
its  surface  or  the  beauty  of  its  hue.  Next,  his  forehead 
was  square  and  broad,  his  brows  straight  and  firm,  his 
eyes  penetrating  and  clear.  By  collecting  the  round  of  ex- 
pressions they  gave  forth,'  a  person  who  theorized  on  such 
matters  would  have  imbibed  the  notion  that  their  owner 
was  of  a  nature  to  kick  against  the  pricks ;  the  last  man 
in  the  world  to  put  up  with  a  position  because  it  seemed 
to  be  his  destiny  to  do  so ;  one  who  took  upon  himself 
to  resist  fate  with  the  vindictive  determination  of  a  Theo- 
machist.  Eyes  and  forehead  both  would  have  expressed 
keenness  of  intellect  too  severely  to  be  pleasing,  had 
their  force  not  been  counteracted  by  the  lines  and  tone 
of  the  Hps.  TTiese  were  full  and  luscious  to  a  surprising 
degree,  possessing  a  woman-like  softness  of  curve,  and  a 
ruby  redness  so  intense,  as  to  testify  strongly  to  much 
susceptibility  of  heart  where  feminine  beauty  was  con- 
cerned— a  susceptibility  that  might  require  all  the 
ballast  of  brain  with  which  he  had  previously  been 
credited  to  confine  within  reasonable  channels. 

His  manner  was  rather  elegant  than  good  :  his  speech 
well-finished  and  unconstrained. 

The  pause  in  their  discourse,  which  had  been  caused 
by  the  peal  of  thunder,  was  unbroken  by  either  for  a 
minute  or  two,  during  which  the  ears  of  both  seemed 
to  be  absently  following  the  low  roar  of  the  waterfall 
as  it  became  gradually  rivalled  by  the  increasing  rush  of 
rain  upon  the  trees  and  herbage  of  the  grove.  After 
157 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

her  short  looks  at  him,  Cytherea  had  turned  her  head 
towards  the  avenue  for  a  while,  and  nov,  glancing  back 
again  for  an  instant,  she  discovered  that  his  eyes  were 
engaged  in  a  steady,  though  delicate,  regard  of  her  face 
and  form. 

At  this  moment,  by  reason  of  the  narrowness  of  the 
porch,  their  dresses  touched,  and  remained  in  contact. 

His  clothes  are  something  exterior  to  every  man ; 
but  to  a  woman  her  dress  is  part  of  her  body.  Its 
motions  are  all  present  to  her  intelligence  if  not  to  her 
eyes ;  no  man  knows  how  his  coat-tails  swing.  By  the 
slightest  hyperbole  it  may  be  said  that  her  dress  has 
sensation.  Crease  but  the  very  Ultima  Thule  of  fringe 
or  flounce,  and  it  hurts  her  as  much  as  pinching  her. 
DeUcate  antennae,  or  feelers,  bristle  on  every  outlying 
frill.  Go  to  the  uppermost :  she  is  there  ;  tread  on  the 
lowest :  the  fair  creature  is  there  almost  before  you. 

Thus  the  touch  of  clothes,  which  was  nothing  to 
Mansion,  sent  a  thrill  through  Cytherea,  seeing,  more- 
over, that  he  was  of  the  nature  of  a  mysterious  stranger. 
She  looked  out  again  at  the  storm,  but  still  felt  him. 
At  last  to  escape  the  sensation  she  moved  away,  though 
by  so  doing  it  was  necessary  to  advance  a  little  into  the 
rain. 

'  Look,  the  rain  is  coming  into  the  porch  upon  you,' 
he  said.     '  Step  inside  the  door.' 

Cytherea  hesitated. 

'  Perfectly  safe,  I  assure  you,'  he  added,  laughing, 
and  holding  the  door  open.  'You  shall  see  what  a 
state  of  disorganization  I  am  in — boxes  on  boxes,  furni- 
ture, straw,  crockery,  in  every  form  of  transposition.  An 
old  woman  is  in  the  back  quarters  somewhere,  beginning 
to  put  things  to  rights.  .  .  .  You  know  the  inside  of 
the  house,  I  dare  say  ?  ' 

'  I  have  never  been  in.* 

•O   well,   come  along.     Here,    you   see,   they  have 
made  a  door  through ;  here,  they  have  put  a  partition 
158 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

dividing  the  old  hall  into  two,  one  part  is  now  my 
parlour;  there  they  have  put  a  plaster  ceiling,  hiding 
the  old  chestnut-carved  roof  because  it  was  too  high 
and  would  have  been  chilly  for  me ;  you  see,  being  the 
original  hall,  it  was  open  right  up  to  the  top,  and  here 
the  lord  of  the  manor  and  his  retainers  used  to  meet 
and  be  merry  by  the  light  from  the  monstrous  fire 
which  shone  out  from  that  monstrous  fire-place,  now 
narrowed  to  a  mere  nothing  for  my  grate,  though  you 
can  see  the  old  outline  still.  I  almost  wish  I  could 
have  had  it  in  its  original  state.' 

'  With  more  romance  and  less  comfort.' 

'  Yes,  exactly.  Well,  perhaps  the  wish  is  not  deep- 
seated.  You  will  see  how  the  things  are  tumbled  in 
anyhow,  packing-cases  and  all.  The  only  piece  of 
ornamental  furniture  yet  unpacked  is  this  one.' 

'  An  organ  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  an  organ.  I  made  it  myself,  except  the  pipes. 
I  opened  the  case  this  afternoon  to  commence  soothing 
myself  at  once.  It  is  not  a  very  large  one,  but  quite 
big  enough  for  a  private  house.    You  play,  I  dare  say  ? ' 

'  The  piano.     I  am  not  at  all  used  to  an  organ.' 

'  You  would  soon  acquire  the  touch  for  an  organ, 
though  it  would  spoil  your  touch  for  the  piano.  Not 
that  that  matters  a  great  deal.  A  piano  isn't  much  as 
an  instrument.' 

'  It  is  the  fashion  to  say  so  now.  I  think  it  is  quite 
good  enough.' 

'  That  isn't  altogether  a  right  sentiment  about  things 
being  good  enough.' 

*  No — no.  What  I  mean  is,  that  the  men  who 
despise  pianos  do  it  as  a  rule  from  their  teeth,  merely 
for  fashion's  sake,  because  cleverer  men  have  said  it 
before  them — not  from  the  experience  of  their  ears.' 

Now  Cytherea  all  at  once  broke  into  a  blush  at  the 
consciousness  of  a  great  snub  she  had  been  guilty  of 
in  her  eagerness  to  explain  herself.      He  charitably  ex- 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

pressed  by  a  look  that  he  did  not  in  the  least  mind  her 
blunder,  if  it  were  one;  and  this  attitude  forced  him 
into  a  position  of  mental  superiority  which  vexed  her. 

'  I  play  for  my  private  amusement  only,'  he  said. 
'  I  have  never  learned  scientifically.  All  I  know  is  what 
I  taught  myself.* 

The  thunder,  lightning,  and  rain  had  now  increased 
to  a  terrific  force.  The  clouds,  from  which  darts,  forks, 
zigzags,  and  balls  of  fire  continually  sprang,  did  not 
appear  to  be  more  than  a  hundred  yards  above  their 
heads,  and  every  now  and  then  a  flash  and  a  peal  made 
gaps  in  the  steward's  descriptions.  He  went  towards 
the  organ,  in  the  midst  of  a  volley  which  seemed  to 
shake  the  aged  house  from  foundations  to  chimney. 

'  You  are  not  going  to  play  now,  are  you  ? '  said 
Cytherea  uneasily. 

'  O  yes.  Why  not  now  ?  '  he  said.  *  You  can't  go 
home,  and  therefore  we  may  as  well  be  amused,  if  you 
don't  mind  sitting  on  this  box.  The  few  chairs  I  have 
unpacked  are  in  the  other  room.' 

Without  waiting  to  see  whether  she  sat  down  or  not, 
he  turned  to  the  organ  and  began  extemporizing  a  har- 
mony which  meandered  through  every  variety  of  expres- 
sion of  which  the  instrument  was  capable.  Presently  he 
ceased  and  began  searching  for  some  music-book. 

'  What  a  splendid  flash ! '  he  said,  as  the  lightning 
again  shone  in  through  the  mullioned  window,  which, 
of  a  proportion  to  suit  the  whole  extent  of  the  original 
hall,  was  much  too  large  for  the  present  room.  The 
thunder  pealed  again.  Cytherea,  in  spite  of  herself, 
was  frightened,  not  only  at  the  weather,  but  at  the 
general  unearthly  weirdness  which  seemed  to  surround 
her  there. 

'  I  wish  I — the  lightning  wasn't  so  bright.  Do  you 
think  it  will  last  long  ? '  she  said  timidly. 

'  It  can't  last  much  longer,'  he  murmured,  without 
turning,  running  his  fingers  again  over  the  keys.  '  But 
1 60 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

this  is  nothing,'  he  continued,  suddenly  stopping  and 
regarding  her.  '  It  seems  brighter  because  of  the  deep 
shadow  under  those  trees  yonder.  Don't  mind  it ;  now 
look  at  me — look  in  my  face — now.' 

He  had  faced  the  window,  looking  fixedly  at  the  sky 
v/ith  his  dark  strong  eyes.  She  seemed  compelled  to 
do  as  she  was  bidden,  and  looked  in  the  too-delicately 
beautiful  face. 

The  flash  came ;  but  he  did  not  turn  or  blink,  keep- 
ing his  eyes  fixed  as  firmly  as  before.  '  There,'  he  said, 
turning  to  her,  '  that's  the  way  to  look  at  lightning.' 

'  O,  it  might  have  blinded  you  ! '  she  exclaimed. 

*  Nonsense — not  Hghtning  of  this  sort — I  shouldn't 
have  stared  at  it  if  there  had  been  danger.  It  is  only 
sheet-lightning  now.  Now,  will  you  have  another  piece  ? 
Something  from  an  oratorio  this  time  ? ' 

'  No,  thank  you — I  don't  want  to  hear  it  whilst  it 
thunders  so.'  But  he  had  begun  without  heeding  her 
answer,  and  she  stood  motionless  again,  marvelling  at 
the  wonderful  indifference  to  all  external  circumstance 
which  was  now  evinced  by  his  complete  absorption  in 
the  music  before  him. 

*  Why  do  you  play  such  saddening  chords  ? '  she  said, 
when  he  next  paused. 

'  H'rn — because  I  like  them,  I  suppose,'  said  he 
lightly.     '  Don't  you  like  sad  impressions  sometimes  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sometimes,  perhaps.' 

'  When  you  are  full  of  trouble.' 

'  Yes.' 

'  Well,  why  shouldn't  I  when  I  am  full  of  trouble  ?  ' 

'  Are  you  troubled  ?  ' 

'  I  am  troubled.'  He  said  this  thoughtfully  and 
abruptly — so  abruptly  that  she  did  not  push  the  dialogue 
further. 

He  now  played  more  powerfully.  Cytherea  had 
never  heard  music  in  the  completeness  of  full  orchestrnl 
power,  and  the  tones  of  the  organ,  which  reverberated 
i6i  L 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

with  considerable  effect  in  the  comparatively  small  space 
of  the  room,  heightened  by  the  elemen,tal  strife  of  light 
and  sound  outside,  moved  her  to  a  degree  out  of  pro- 
portion to  the  actual  power  of  the  mere  notes,  practised 
as  was  the  hand  that  produced  them.  The  varying 
strains — now  loud,  now  soft ;  simple,  compHcated,  weird, 
touching,  grand,  boisterous,  subdued;  each  phase  dis- 
tinct, yet  modulating  into  the  next  with  a  graceful  and 
easy  flow — shook  and  bent  her  to  themselves,  as  a 
gushing  brook  shakes  and  bends  a  shadow  cast  across 
its  surface.  The  power  of  the  music  did  not  show 
itself  so  much  by  attracting  her  attention  to  the  subject 
of  the  piece,  as  by  taking  up  and  developing  as  its  libretto 
the  poem  of  her  own  Hfe  and  soul,  shifting  her  deeds  and 
intentions  from  the  hands  of  her  judgment  and  holding 
them  in  its  own. 

She  was  swayed  into  emotional  opinions  concerning 
the  strange  man  before  her;  new  impulses  of  thought 
came  with  new  harmonies,  and  entered  into  her  with  a 
gnawing  thrill.  A  dreadful  flash  of  lightning  then,  and 
the  thunder  close  upon  it.  She  found  herself  involun- 
tarily shrinking  up  beside  him,  and  looking  with  parted 
lips  at  his  face. 

He  turned  his  eyes  and  saw  her  emotion,  which 
greatly  increased  the  ideal  element  in  her  expressive 
face.  She  was  in  the  state  in  which  woman's  instinct 
to  conceal  has  lost  its  power  over  her  impulse  to  tell ; 
and  he  saw  it.  Bending  his  handsome  face  over  her  till 
his  lips  almost  touched  her  ear,  he  murmured,  without 
breaking  tlie  harmonies — 

'  Do  you  very  much  like  this  piece  ? ' 

'  Very  much  indeed,'  she  said. 

*  I  could  see  you  were  affected  by  it.  I  will  copy  it 
for  you.' 

'  Thank  you  much.' 

'  I  will  l>ring  it  to  the  House  to  you  to-morrow. 
Who  shall  I  ask  for  ? ' 

162 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  O,  not  for  me.  Don't  bring  it,'  she  said  hastily. 
'  I  shouldn't  like  you  to.' 

'  Let  me  see — to-morrow  evening  at  seven  or  a  few 
minutes  past  I  shall  be  passing  the  waterfall  on  my  way 
home.  I  could  conveniently  give  it  you  there,  and  I 
should  like  you  to  have  it.' 

He  modulated  into  the  Pastoral  Symphony,  still 
looking  in  her  eyes. 

'  Very  well,'  she  said,  to  get  rid  of  the  look. 

The  storm  had  by  this  time  considerably  decreased 
in  violence,  and  in  seven  or  ten  minutes  the  sky  partially 
cleared,  the  clouds  around  the  western  horizon  becoming 
lighted  up  with  the  rays  of  the  sinking  sun. 

Cytherea  drew  a  long  breath  of  relief,  and  prepared 
to  go  away.  She  was  full  of  a  distressing  sense  that 
her  detention  in  the  old  manor-house,  and  the  acquaint- 
anceship it  had  set  on  foot,  was  not  a  thing  she  wished. 
It  was  such  a  fooHsh  thing  to  have  been  excited  and 
dragged  into  frankness  by  the  wiles  of  a  stranger. 

*  Allow  me  to  come  with  you,'  he  said,  accompanying 
her  to  the  door,  and  again  showing  by  his  behaviour 
how  much  he  was  impressed  with  her.  His  influence 
over  her  had  vanished  with  the  musical  chords,  and 
she  turned  her  back  upon  him.  '  May  I  come  ? '  he 
repeated. 

'  No,  no.  The  distance  is  not  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
— it  is  really  not  necessary,  thank  you,'  she  said  quietly. 
And  wishing  him  good-evening,  without  meeting  his 
eyes,  she  went  down  the  steps,  leaving  him  standing 
at  the  door. 

'  O,  how  is  it  that  man  has  so  fascinated  me  ?  '  was 
all  she  could  think.  Her  own  self,  as  she  had  sat 
spell-bound  before  him,  was  all  she  could  see.  Her 
gait  was  constrained,  from  the  knowledge  that  his  eyes 
were  upon  her  until  she  had  passed  the  hollow  by  the 
waterfall,  and  by  ascending  the  rise  had  become  hidden 
from  his  view  by  the  boughs  of  the  overhanging  trees. 
163 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


5.  Six  to  Seven  p.m.     • 

The  wet  shining  road  threw  the  western  glare  into 
her  eyes  with  an  invidious  lustre  which  rendered  the 
restlessness  of  her  mood  more  wearying.  Her  thoughts 
flew  from  idea  to  idea  without  asking  for  the  slightest 
link  of  connection  between  one  and  another.  One 
moment  she  was  full  of  the  wild  music  and  stirring 
scene  with  Manston — the  next,  Edward's  image  rose 
before  her  like  a  shadowy  ghost.  Then  Manston's 
black  eyes  seemed  piercing  her  again,  and  the  reckless 
voluptuous  mouth  appeared  bending  to  the  curves  of 
his  special  words.  What  could  be  those  troubles  to 
which  he  had  alluded  ?  Perhaps  Miss  Aldclyffe  was 
at  the  bottom  of  them.  Sad  at  heart  she  paced  on : 
her  life  was  bewildering  her. 

On  coming  into  Miss  Aldclyffe's  presence  Cytherea 
told  her  of  the  incident,  not  without  a  fear  that  she 
would  burst  into  one  of  her  ungovernable  fits  of  temper 
at  learning  Cytherea's  slight  departure  from  the  pro- 
gramme. But,  strangely  to  Cytherea,  Miss  Aldclyffe 
looked  delighted.    The  usual  cross-examination  followed. 

'  And  so  you  were  with  him  all  that  time  ? '  said  the 
lady,  with  assumed  severity. 

'  Yes,  I  was.' 

'  I  did  not  tell  you  to  call  at  the  Old  House  twice.' 

'  I  didn't  call,  as  I  have  said.  He  made  me  come 
into  the  porch.' 

'  What  remarks  did  he  make,  do  you  say  ?  ' 

'  That  the  lightning  was  not  so  bad  as  I  thought.' 

*  A  very  important  remark,  that.     Did  he '  she 

turned  her  glance  full  upon  the  girl,  and  eyeing  her 
searchingly,  said — 

'  Did  he  say  anything  about  me  ?  ' 

'  Nothing,'   said  Cytherea,  returning  her  gaze  calmly, 
'  except  that  I  was  to  give  you  the  subscription.' 
164 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  You  are  quite  sure  ? ' 

*  Quite.' 

*  I  believe  you.  Did  he  say  anything  striking  or 
strange  about  himself? ' 

'  Only  one  thing — that  he  was  troubled.' 

'  Troubled  ! ' 

After  saying  the  word,  Miss  Aldclyffe  relapsed  into 
silence.  Such  behaviour  as  this  had  ended,  on  most 
previous  occasions,  by  her  making  a  confession,  and 
Cytherea  expected  one  now.  But  for  once  she  was 
mistaken,  nothing  more  was  said. 

When  she  had  returned  to  her  room  she  sat  down 
and  penned  a  farewell  letter  to  Edward  Springrove,  as 
little  able  as  any  other  excitable  and  brimming  young 
woman  of  nineteen  to  feel  that  the  wisest  and  only 
dignified  course  at  that  juncture  was  to  do  nothing  at 
all.  She  told  him  that,  to  her  painful  surprise,  she  had 
learnt  that  his  engagement  to  another  woman  was  a 
matter  of  notoriety.  She  insisted  that  all  honour  bade 
him  marry  his  early  love — a  woman  far  better  than  her 
unworthy  self,  who  only  deserved  to  be  forgotten,  and 
begged  him  to  remember  that  he  was  not  to  see  her  face 
again.  She  upbraided  him  for  levity  and  cruelty  in 
meeting  her  so  frequently  at  Budmouth,  and  above  all 
in  stealing  the  kiss  from  her  hps  on  the  last  evening 
of  the  water  excursions.  '  I  never,  never  can  forget 
it ! '  she  said,  and  then  felt  a  sensation  of  having  done 
her  duty,  ostensibly  persuading  herself  that  her  re- 
proaches and  commands  were  of  such  a  force  that  no 
man  to  whom  they  were  uttered  could  ever  approach 
her  more. 

Yet  it  was  all  unconsciously  said  in  words  which  be- 
trayed a  lingering  tenderness  of  love  at  every  unguarded 
turn.  Like  Beatrice  accusing  Dante  from  the  chariot, 
try  as  she  might  to  play  the  superior  being  who  con- 
temned such  mere  eye-sensuousness,  she  betrayed  at 
every  point  a  pretty  woman's  jealousy  of  a  rival,  and 
"  165 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

covertly  gave  her  old  lover  hints  for  excusing  himself  at 
each  fresh  indictment. 

This  done,  Cytherea,  still  in  a  practical  mood,  up- 
braided herself  with  weakness  in  allowing  a  stranger  like 
Mr.  Mansion  to  influence  her  as  he  had  done  that  even- 
ing. What  right  on  earth  had  he  to  suggest  so  suddenly 
that  she  might  meet  him  at  the  waterfall  to  receive  his 
music  ?  She  would  have  given  much  to  be  able  to 
annihilate  the  ascendency  he  had  obtained  over  her 
during  that  extraordinary  interval  of  melodious  sound. 
Not  being  able  to  endure  the  notion  of  his  living  a 
minute  longer  in  the  belief  he  was  then  holding,  she 
took  her  pen  and  wrote  to  him  also : — 

'Knapwater  House, 

September  20th. 
'  I  find  I  cannot  meet  you  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  waterfall  as 
I  promised.     The  emotion  I  felt  made  me  forgetful  of  realities. 

'C.  Grave.' 

A  great  statesman  thinks  several  times,  and  acts ;  a 
young  lady  acts,  and  thinks  several  times.  When,  a 
few  minutes  later,  she  saw  the  postman  carry  off  the  bag 
containing  one  of  the  letters,  and  a  messenger  with  the 
other,  she,  for  the  first  time,  asked  herself  the  question 
whether  she  had  acted  very  wisely  in  writing  to  either  of 
the  two  men  who  had  so  influenced  her. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


IX 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

TEN  WEEKS 

I.  From  September  the  Twenty-First  to  the 
Middle  of  November 

1  HE  foremost  figure  within  Cytherea's  horizon,  exclu- 
sive of  the  inmates  of  Knapwater  House,  was  now  the 
steward,  Mr.  Manston.  It  was  impossible  that  they 
should  live  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  each  other,  be 
engaged  in  the  same  service,  and  attend  the  same  church, 
without  meeting  at  some  spot  or  another,  twice  or  thrice 
a  week.  On  Sundays,  in  her  pew,  when  by  chance  she 
turned  her  head,  Cytherea  found  his  eyes  waiting  desir- 
ously for  a  glimpse  of  hers,  and,  at  first  more  strangely, 
the  eyes  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  furtively  resting  on  him. 
On  coming  out  of  church  he  frequently  walked  beside 
Cytherea  till  she  reached  the  gate  at  which  residents 
in  the  House  turned  into  the  shrubbery.  By  degrees 
a  conjecture  grew  to  a  certainty.  She  knew  that  he 
loved  her. 

But  a  strange  fact  was  connected  with  the  develop- 
ment of  his  love.  He  was  palpably  making  the  strongest 
efforts  to  subdue,  or  at  least  to  hide,  the  weakness,  and 
as  it  sometimes  seemed,  rather  from  his  own  conscience 
than  from  surrounding  eyes.  Hence  she  found  that 
167 


V 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

not  one  of  his  encounters  with  her  was  anything  more 
than  the  result  of  pure  accident.  He  made  no  advances 
whatever :  without  avoiding  her,  he  never  sought  her : 
the  words  he  had  whispered  at  their  first  interview  now 
proved  themselves  to  be  quite  as  much  the  result  of 
unguarded  impulse  as  was  her  answer.  Something  held 
him  back,  bound  his  impulse  down,  but  she  saw  that  it 
was  neither  pride  of  his  person,  nor  fear  that  she  would 
refuse  him — a  course  she  unhesitatingly  resolved  to  take 
should  he  think  fit  to  declare  himself.  She  was  interested 
in  him  and  his  marvellous  beauty,  as  she  might  have 
been  in  some  fascinating  panther  or  leopard — for  some 
undefinable  reason  she  shrank  from  him,  even  whilst 
she  admired.  The  keynote  of  her  nature,  a  warm  '  pre- 
cipitance of  soul,'  as  Coleridge  happily  writes  it,  which 
Manston  had  so  directly  pounced  upon  at  their  very 
first  interview,  gave  her  now  a  tremulous  sense  of  being 
in  some  way  in  his  power. 

The  state  of  mind  was,  on  the  whole,  a  dangerous 
one  for  a  young  and  inexperienced  woman ;  and  perhaps 
the  circumstance  which,  more  than  any  other,  led  her  to 
cherish  Edward's  image  now,  was  that  he  had  taken  no 
notice  of  the  receipt  of  her  letter,  stating  that  she  dis- 
carded him.  It  was  plain  then,  she  said,  that  he  did 
not  care  deeply  for  her,  and  she  thereupon  could  not 
quite  leave  off  caring  deeply  for  him  : — 

'  Ingenium  mulierum, 
Nolunt  ubi  velis,  ubi  nolis  cupiunt  ultro.' 

The  month  of  October  passed,  and  November  began 
its  course.  The  inhabitants  of  the  village  of  Carriford 
grew  weary  of  supposing  that  Miss  AldclyfTe  was  going 
to  marry  her  steward.  New  whispers  arose  and  became 
very  distinct  (though  they  did  not  reach  Miss  AldclyfTe's 
ears)  to  the  effect  that  the  steward  was  deeply  in  love 
with  Cytherea  Graye.  Indeed,  the  fact  became  so 
obvious    that    there   was   nothing  left   to  say  about   it 

1 68 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

except  that  their  marriage  would  be  an  excellent  one 
for  both ; — for  her  in  point  of  comfort — and  for  him  in 
point  of  love. 

As  circles  in  a  pond  grow  wider  and  wider,  the  next 
fact,  which  at  first  had  been  patent  only  to  Cytherea 
herself,  in  due  time  spread  to  her  neighbours,  and  they, 
too,  wondered  that  he  made  no  overt  advances.  By  the 
middle  of  November,  a  theory  made  up  of  a  combination 
of  the  other  two  was  received  with  general  favour  :  its 
substance  being  that  a  guilty  intrigue  had  been  com- 
menced between  Manston  and  Miss  Aldclyffe,  some 
years  before,  when  he  was  a  very  young  man,  and  she 
still  in  the  enjoyment  of  some  womanly  beauty,  but 
now  that  her  seniority  began  to  grow  emphatic  she  was 
becoming  distasteful  to  him.  His  fear  of  the  effect  of 
the  lady's  jealousy  would,  they  said,  thus  lead  him  to 
conceal  from  her  his  new  attachment  to  Cytherea. 
Almost  the  only  woman  who  did  not  believe  this  was 
Cytherea  herself,  on  unmistakable  grounds,  which  were 
hidden  from  all  besides.  It  was  not  only  in  public,  but 
even  more  markedly  in  secluded  places,  on  occasions 
when  gallantry  would  have  been  safe  from  all  dis- 
covery, that  this  guarded  course  of  action  was  pursued, 
all  the  strength  of  a  consuming  passion  burning  in  his 
eyes  the  while. 


2.  November  the  Eighteenth 

It  was  on  a  Friday  in  this  month  of  November  that 
Owen  Graye  paid  a  visit  to  his  sister. 

His  zealous  integrity  still  retained  for  him  the  situa- 
tion at  Budmouth,  and  in  order  that  there  should  be 
as  Httle  interruption  as  possible  to  his  duties  there,  he 
had  decided  not  to  come  to  Knapwater  till  late  in  the 
afternoon,  and  to  return  to  Budmouth  by  the  first  train 
the  next  morning,  Miss  Aldclyffe  having  made  a  point 
169 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

of  frequently  offering  him  lodging  for  an  unlimited 
period,  to  the  great  pleasure  of  Cytherea. ' 

He  reached  the  house  about  four  o'clock,  and  ringing 
the  bell,  asked  of  the  page  who  answered  it  for  Miss 
Graye. 

When  Graye  spoke  the  name  of  his  sister,  Manston, 
who  was  just  coming  out  from  an  interview  with  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  passed  him  in  the  vestibule  and  heard  the 
question.  The  steward's  face  grew  hot,  and  he  secretly 
clenched  his  hands.  He  half  crossed  the  court,  then 
turned  his  head  and  saw  that  the  lad  still  stood  at 
the  door,  though  Owen  had  been  shown  into  the  house. 
Manston  went  back  to  him. 

'  Who  was  that  man  ?  '  he  said. 

'I  don't  know,  sir.' 

*  Has  he  ever  been  here  before  ? ' 
'Yes,  sir.' 

*  How  many  times  ?  ' 
'  Three.' 

*  You  are  sure  you  don't  know  him  ? ' 

*  I  think  he  is  Miss  Graye's  brother,  sir.' 

'  Then,  why  the  devil  didn't  you  say  so  before ! ' 
Manston  exclaimed,  and  again  went  on  his  way. 

'  0(  course,  that  was  not  the  man  of  my  dreams — 
of  course,  it  couldn't  be ! '  he  said  to  himself  '  That 
I  should  be  such  a  fool — such  an  utter  fool.  Good 
God  !  to  allow  a  girl  to  influence  me  like  this,  day  after 
day,  till  I  am  jealous  of  her  very  brother.  A  lady's  de- 
pendent, a  waif,  a  helpless  thing  entirely  at  the  mercy 
of  the  world ;  yes,  curse  it ;  that  is  just  why  it  is ;  that 
fact  of  her  being  so  helpless  against  the  blows  of  cir- 
cumstances which  renders  her  so  deliciously  sweet ! ' 

He  paused  opposite  his  house.  Should  he  get  his 
horse  saddled  ?     No. 

He  went  down  the  drive  and  out  of  the  park,  having 
started  to  proceed  to  an  outlying  spot  on  the  estate 
concerning  some  draining,  and  to  call  at  the  potter's 

I  70 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

yard  to  make  an  arrangement  for  the  supply  of  pipes. 
But  a  remark  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  dropped  in 
relation  to  Cytherea  was  what  still  occupied  his  mind, 
and  had  been  the  immediate  cause  of  his  excitement  at 
the  sight  of  her  brother.  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  meaningly 
remarked  during  their  intercourse,  that  Cytherea  was 
wildly  in  love  with  Edward  Springrove,  in  spite  of  his 
engagement  to  his  cousin  Adelaide. 

*  How  I  am  harassed ! '  he  said  aloud,  after  deep 
thought  for  half-an-hour,  while  still  continuing  his  walk 
with  the  greatest  vehemence.  '  How  I  am  harassed  by 
these  emotions  of  mine ! '  He  calmed  himself  by  an 
effort.  '  Well,  duty  after  all  it  shall  be,  as  nearly  as 
I  can  effect  it.  "  Honesty  is  the  best  policy  ;  "  '  with 
which  vigorously  uttered  resolve  he  once  more  attempted 
to  turn  his  attention  to  the  prosy  object  of  his  journey. 

The  evening  had  closed  in  to  a  dark  and  dreary 
night  when  the  steward  came  from  the  potter's  door  to 
proceed  homewards  again.  The  gloom  did  not  tend  to 
raise  his  spirits,  and  in  the  total  lack  of  objects  to  attract 
his  eye,  he  soon  fell  to  introspection  as  before.  It  was 
along  the  margin  of  turnip  fields  that  his  path  lay,  and 
the  large  leaves  of  the  crop  struck  flatly  against  his  feet 
at  every  step,  pouring  upon  them  the  rolling  drops  of 
moisture  gathered  upon  their  broad  surfaces  ;  but  the 
annoyance  was  unheeded.  Next  reaching  a  fir  planta- 
tion, he  mounted  the  stile  and  followed  the  path  into 
the  midst  of  the  darkness  produced  by  the  overhang- ' 
ing  trees.  ! 

After  walking  under  the  dense  shade  of  the  inky  ! 
boughs  for  a  few  minutes,  he  fancied  he  had  mistaken 
the  path,  which  as  yet  was  scarcely  familiar  to  him. 
This  was  proved  directly  afterwards  by  his  coming  at 
right  angles  upon  some  obstruction,  which  careful  feel- 
ing with  outstretched  hands  soon  told  him  to  be  a  rail 
fence.  However,  as  the  wood  was  not  large,  he  experi- 
enced no  alarm  about  finding  the  path  again,  and  with 
171 


i 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

some  sense  of  pleasure  halted  awhile  against  the  rails, 
to  listen  to  the  intensely  melancholy  yet  musical  wail  oi 
the  fir-tops,  and  as  the  wind  passed  on,  the  prompt 
moan  of  an  adjacent  plantation  in  reply.  He  could  just 
dimly  discern  the  airy  summits  of  the  two  or  three  trees 
nearest  him  waving  restlessly  backwards  and  fonvards, 
and  stretching  out  their  boughs  like  hairy  arms  into  the 
dull  sky.  The  scene,  from  its  striking  and  emphatic 
loneliness,  began  to  grow  congenial  to  his  mood ;  all  of 
human  kind  seemed  at  the  antipodes. 

A  sudden  rattle  on  his  right  hapd  caused  him  to 
start  from  his  reverie,  and  turn  in  that  direction.  There, 
before  him,  he  saw  rise  up  from  among  the  trees  a 
fountain  of  sparks  and  smoke,  then  a  red  glare  of  ^light 
coming  forward  towards  him ;  then  a  flashing  panorama 
of  illuminated  oblong  pictures ;  then  the  old  darkness, 
more  impressive  than  ever. 

The  surprise,  which  had  owed  its  origin  to  his  im- 
perfect acquaintance  with  the  topographical  features  of 
that  end  of  the  estate,  had  been  but  momentary;  the 
disturbance,  a  well-known  one  to  dwellers  by  a  railway, 
being  caused  by  the  6.50  down-train  passing  along  a 
shallow  cutting  in  the  midst  of  the  wood  immediately 
below  where  he  stood,  the  driver  having  the  fire-door  of 
the  engine  open  at  the  minute  of  going  by.  The  train 
had,  when  passing  him,  already  considerably  slackened 
speed,  and  now  a  whistle  was  heard,  announcing  that 
Carriford  Road  Station  was  not  far  in  its  van. 

But  contrary  to  the  natural  order  of  things,  the  dis- 
covery that  it  was  only  a  commonplace  train  had  not 
caused  Manston  to  stir  from  his  position  of  facing  the 
railway. 

If  the  6.50  down-train  had  been  a  flash  of  forked 
lightning  transfixing  him  to  the  earth,  he  could  scarcely 
have  remained  in  a  more  trance  like  state.  He  still 
leant  against  the  railings,  his  right  hand  still  continued 
pressing  on  his  walking-stick,  his  weight  on  one  foot, 
172 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

his  other  heel  raised,  his  eyes  wide  open  towards  the 
blackness  of  the  cutting.  The  only  movement  in  him 
was  a  slight  dropping  of  the  lower  jaw,  separating  his 
previously  closed  lips  a  little  way,  as  when  a  strange 
conviction  rushes  home  suddenly  upon  a  man.  A  new 
surprise,  not  nearly  so  trivial  as  the  first,  had  taken 
possession  of  him. 

It  was  on  this  account.  At  one  of  the  illuminated 
windows  of  a  second-class  carriage  in  the  series  gone 
by,  he  had  seen  a  pale  face,  reclining  upon  one  hand, 
the  light  from  the  lamp  falling  full  upon  it.  The  face 
was  a  woman's. 

At  last  Manston  moved ;  gave  a  whispering  kind  of 
whistle,  adjusted  his  hat,  and  walked  on  again,  cross- 
questioning  himself  in  every  direction  as  to  how  a  piece 
of  knowledge  he  had  carefully  concealed  had  found 
its  way  to  another  person's  intelligence.  '  How  can 
my  address  have  become  known  ? '  he  said  at  length, 
audibly.  '  Well,  it  is  a  blessing  I  have  been  circum- 
spect and  honourable,  in  relation  to  that — yes,  I  will 
say  it,  for  once,  even  if  the  words  choke  me,  that 
darling  of  mine,  Cytherea,  never  to  be  my  own,  never. 
I  suppose  all  will  come  out  now.  All !  '  The  great 
sadness  of  his  utterance  proved  that  no  mean  force  had 
been  exercised  upon  himself  to  sustain  the  circumspection 
he  had  just  claimed. 

He  wheeled  to  the  left,  pursued  the  ditch  beside  the 
railway  fence,  and  presently  emerged  from  the  wood, 
stepping  into  a  road  which  crossed  the  railway  by  a 
bridge. 

As  he  neared  home,  the  anxiety  lately  written  in  his 
face,  merged  by  degrees  into  a  grimly  humorous  smile, 
which  hung  long  upon  his  lips,  and  he  quoted  aloud 
a  line  from  the  book  of  Jeremiah — 

'  A  woman  shall  compass  a  man.' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


3.  November  the  Nineteenth.     Daybreak 

Before  it  was  light  the  next  morning,  two  little  naked 
feet  pattered  along  the  passage  in  Knapwater  House, 
from  which  Owen  Graye's  bedroom  opened,  and  a  tap 
was  given  upon  his  door. 

'  Owen,  Owen,  are  you  awake  ? '  said  Cytherea  in 
a  whisper  through  the .  keyhole.  *  You  must  get  up 
directly,  or  you'll  miss  the  train.' 

When  he  descended  to  his  sister's  little  room,  he 
found  her  there  already  waiting  with  a  cup  of  cocoa  and 
a  grilled  rasher  on  the  table  for  him.  A  hasty  meal 
was  despatched  in  the  intervals  of  putting  on  his  overcoat 
and  finding  his  hat,  and  they  then  went  softly  through 
the  long  deserted  passages,  the  kitchen-maid  who  had 
prepared  their  breakfast  walking  before  them  with  a  lamp 
held  high  above  her  head,  which  cast  long  wheeling 
shadows  down  corridors  intersecting  the  one  they  fol- 
lowed, their  remoter  ends  being  lost  in  darkness.  The 
door  was  unbolted  and  they  stepped  out. 

Owen  had  preferred  walking  to  the  station  to  accept- 
ing the  pony-carriage  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  placed 
at  his  disposal,  having  a  morbid  horror  of  giving  trouble 
to  people  richer  than  himself,  and  especially  to  their 
men-servants,  who  looked  down  upon  him  as  a  hybrid 
monster  in  social  position.  Cytherea  proposed  to  walk 
a  little  way  with  him. 

*  I  want  to  talk  to  you  as  long  as  I  can,'  she  said 
tenderly. 

Brother  and  sister  then  emerged  by  the  heavy  door 
into  the  drive.  The  feeling  and  aspect  of  the  hour 
were  precisely  similar  to  those  under  which  the  steward 
had  left  the  house  the  evening  previous,  excepting  that 
apparently  unearthly  reversal  of  natural  sequence,  which 
is  caused  by  the  world  getting  lighter  instead  of  darker. 
'  The  tearful  glimmer  of  the  languid  dawn  '  was  just  suffi- 
174 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

cient  to  reveal  to  them  the  melancholy  red  leaves,  lying 
thickly  in  the  channels  by  the  roadside,  ever  and  anon 
loudly  tapped  on  by  heavy  drops  of  water,  which  the 
boughs  above  had  collected  from  the  foggy  air. 

They  passed  the  Old  House,  engaged  in  a  deep  con- 
versation, and  had  proceeded  about  twenty  yards  by  a 
cross  route,  in  the  direction  of  the  turnpike  road,  when 
the  form  of  a  woman  emerged  from  the  porch  of  the 
building. 

She  was  wrapped  in  a  grey  waterproof  cloak,  the  hood 
of  which  was  drawn  over  her  head  and  closely  round  her 
face — so  closely  that  her  eyes  were  the  sole  features 
uncovered. 

With  this  one  exception  of  her  appearance  there,  the 
most  perfect  stillness  and  silence  pervaded  the  steward's 
residence  from  basement  to  chimney.  Not  a  shutter 
was  open ;  not  a  twine  of  smoke  came  forth. 

Underneath  the  ivy-covered  gateway  she  stood  still 
and  Ustened  for  two,  or  possibly  three  minutes,  till  she 
became  conscious  of  others  in  the  park.  Seeing  the 
pair  she  stepped  back,  with  the  apparent  intention  of 
letting  them  pass  out  of  sight,  and  evidently  wishing  to 
avoid  observation.  But  looking  at  her  watch,  and  re- 
turning it  rapidly  to  her  pocket,  as  if  surprised  at  the 
lateness  of  the  hour,  she  hurried  out  again,  and  across 
the  park  by  a  still  more  oblique  line  than  that  traced 
by  Owen  and  his  sister. 

These  in  the  meantime  had  got  into  the  road,  and 
were  walking  along  it  as  the  woman  came  up  on  the 
other  side  of  the  boundary  hedge,  looking  for  a  gate  or 
stile,  by  which  she,  too,  might  get  off  the  grass  upon 
the  hard  ground. 

Their  conversation,  of  which  every  word  was  clear 
and  distinct,  in  the  still  air  of  the  dawn,  to  the  distance 
of  a  quarter  of  a  mile,  reached  her  ears,  and  withdrew 
her  attention  from  all  other  matters  and  sights  what- 
soever. Thus  arrested  she  stood  for  an  instant  as  pre- 
175 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

cisely  in  the  attitude  of  Imogen  by  the  cave  of  Belarius, 
as  if  she  had  studied  the  position  from  the  play.  When 
they  had  advanced  a  few  steps,  she  followed  them  in 
some  doubt,  still  screened  by  the  hedge. 

*  Do  you  believe  in  such  odd  coincidences  ? '  said 
Cytherea. 

*  How  do  you  mean,  believe  in  them  ?  They  occur 
sometimes.' 

*  Yes,  one  will  occur  often  enough — that  is,  two  dis- 
connected events  will  fall  strangely  together  by  chance, 
and  people  scarcely  notice  the  fact  beyond  saying, 
"  Oddly  enough  it  happened  that  so  and  so  were  the 
same,"  and  so  on.  But  when  three  such  events  coin- 
cide without  any  apparent  reason  for  the  coincidence, 
it  seems  as  if  there  must  be  invisible  means  at  work. 
You  see,  three  things  falling  together  in  that  manner 
are  ten  times  as  singular  as  two  cases  of  coincidence 
which  are  distinct.' 

'  Well,  of  course :  what  a  mathematical  head  you 
have,  Cytherea !  But  I  don't  see  so  much  to  marvel  at 
in  our  case.  That  the  man  who  kept  the  public-house 
in  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  fainted,  and  who  found  out  her 
name  and  position,  lives  in  this  neighbourhood,  is  ac- 
counted for  by  the  fact  that  she  got  him  the  berth  to 
stop  his  tongue.  That  you  came  here  was  simply  owing 
to  Springrove.' 

'  Ah,  but  look  at  this.  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  the  woman 
our  father  first  loved,  and  I  have  come  to  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's ;  you  can't  get  over  that.' 

From  these  premises,  she  proceeded  to  argue  like 
an  elderly  divine  on  the  designs  of  Providence  which 
were  apparent  in  such  conjunctures,  and  went  into 
a  variety  of  details  connected  with  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
history. 

'  Had  I  better  tell  Miss  Aldclyffe  that  I  know  all 
this  ?  '  she  inquired  at  last. 

*  What's  the  use  ?  '  he  said.     '  Your  possessing  the 

176 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

knowledge  does  no  harm ;  you  are  at  any  rate  com- 
fortable here,  and  a  confession  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  might 
only  irritate  her.     No,  hold  your  tongue,  Cytherea.' 

'  I  fancy  I  should  have  been  tempted  to  tell  her  too,' 
Cytherea  went  on,  '  had  I  not  found  out  that  there 
exists  a  very  odd,  almost  imperceptible,  and  yet  real 
connection  of  some  kind  between  her  and  Mr.  Manston, 
which  is  more  than  that  of  a  mutual  interest  in  the 
estate.' 

'  She  is  in  love  with  him  ! '  exclaimed  Owen  ;  •  fancy 
that ! ' 

'  Ah — that's  what  everybody  says  who  has  been  keen 
enough  to  notice  anything.  I  said  so  at  first.  And  yet 
now  I  cannot  persuade  myself  that  she  is  in  love  with 
him  at  all.' 

'  Why  can't  you  ?  ' 

'  She  doesn't  act  as  if  she  were.  She  isn't — you  will 
know  I  don't  say  it  from  any  vanity,  Owen — she  isn't 
the  least  jealous  of  me.' 

'  Perhaps  she  is  in  some  way  in  his  power.' 

'  No — she  is  not.  He  was  openly  advertised  for, 
and  chosen  from  forty  or  fifty  who  answered  the  adver- 
tisement, without  knowing  whose  it  was.  And  since  he 
has  been  here,  she  has  certainly  done  nothing  to  com- 
promise herself  in  any  way.  Besides,  why  should  she 
have  brought  an  enemy  here  at  all  ? ' 

'  Then  she  must  have  fallen  in  love  with  him.  You 
know  as  well  as  I  do,  Cyth,  that  with  women  there's 
nothing  between  the  two  poles  of  emotion  towards  an 
interesting  male  acquaintance.  'Tis  either  love  or 
aversion.' 

They  walked  for  a  few  minutes  in  silence,  when 
Cytherea's  eyes  accidentally  fell  upon  her  brother's 
feet. 

'  Owen,'  she  said,  '  do  you  know  that  there  is  some- 
thing unusual  in  your  manner  of  walking  ?  * 

'  What  is  it  like  ?  '  he  asked. 

177  M 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  I  can't  quite  say,  except  that  you  don't  walk  so 
regularly  as  you  used  to.' 

The  woman  behind  the  hedge,  who  had  still  con- 
tinued to  dog  their  footsteps,  made  an  impatient  move- 
ment at  this  change  in  their  conversation,  and  looked  at 
her  watch  again.  Yet  she  seemed  reluctant  to  give  over 
listening  to  them. 

'  Yes,'  Owen  returned  with  assumed  carelessness,  *  I 
do  know  it.  I  think  the  cause  of  it  is  that  mysterious 
pain  which  comes  just  above  my  ankle  sometimes. 
You  remember  the  first  time  I  had  it  ?  That  day  we 
went  by  steam-packet  to  Lulstead  Cove,  when  it  hin- 
dered me  from  coming  back  to  you,  and  compelled 
me  to  sleep  with  the  gateman  we  have  been  talking 
about.' 

*  But  is  it  anything  serious,  dear  Owen  ? '  Cytherea 
exclaimed,  with  some  alarm. 

'  O,  nothing  at  all.  It  is  sure  to  go  off  again.  I 
never  find  a  sign  of  it  when  I  sit  in  the  office.' 

Again  their  unperceived  companion  made  a  gesture 
of  vexation,  and  looked  at  her  watch  as  if  time  were 
precious.  But  the  dialogue  still  flowed  on  upon  this 
new  subject,  and  showed  no  sign  of  returning  to  its 
old  channel. 

Gathering  up  her  skirt  decisively  she  renounced  all 
further  hope,  and  hurried  along  the  ditch  till  she  had 
dropped  into  a  valley,  and  came  to  a  gate  which  was 
beyond  the  view  of  those  coming  behind.  This  she 
softly  opened,  and  came  out  upon  the  road,  following  it 
in  the  direction  of  the  railway  station. 

Presently  she  heard  Owen  Graye's  footsteps  in  her 
rear,  his  quickened  pace  implying  that  he  had  parted 
from  his  sister.  The  woman  thereupon  increased  her 
rapid  walk  to  a  run,  and  in  a  few  minutes  safely  dis- 
tanced her  fellow-traveller. 

The  railway  at  Carriford  Road  consisted  only  of  a 
single  line  of  rails ;  and  the  short  local  down-train  by 
178 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

which  Owen  was  going  to  Budmouth  was  shunted  on  to 
a  siding  whilst  the  first  up-train  passed.  Graye  entered 
the  waiting-room,  and  the  door  being  open  he  Ustlessly 
obser\-ed  the  movements  of  a  woman  wearing  a  long 
grey  cloak,  and  closely  hooded,  who  had  asked  for  a 
ticket  for  London. 

He  followed  her  with  his  eyes  on  to  the  platform, 
saw  her  waiting  there  and  afterwards  stepping  into  the 
train  :  his  recollection  of  her  ceasing  with  the  perception. 


4.  Eight  to  Ten  o'clock  a.m. 

Mrs.  Crickett,  twice  a  widow,  and  now  the  parish 
clerk's  wife,  a  fine-framed,  scandal-loving  woman,  with  a 
peculiar  corner  to  her  eye  by  which,  without  turning  her 
head,  she  could  see  what  people  were  doing  almost 
behind  her,  lived  in  a  cottage  standing  nearer  to  the 
old  manor-house  than  any  other  in  the  village  of  Car- 
riford,  and  she  had  on  that  account  been  temporarily 
engaged  by  the  steward,  as  a  respectable  kind  of  char- 
woman and  general  servant,  until  a  settled  arrange- 
ment could  be  made  with  some  person  as  permanent 
domestic. 

Every  morning,  therefore,  Mrs.  Crickett,  immediately 
she  had  lighted  the  fire  in  her  own  cottage,  and  prepared 
the  breakfast  for  herself  and  husband,  paced  her  way 
to  the  Old  House  to  do  the  same  for  Mr.  Manston. 
Then  she  went  home  to  breakfast ;  and  when  the 
steward  had  eaten  his,  and  had  gone  out  on  his  rounds, 
she  returned  again  to  clear  away,  make  his  bed,  and  put 
the  house  in  order  for  the  day. 

On   the   morning  of   Owen   Graye's   departure,   she 

went  through  the  operations  of  her  first  visit  as  usual 

proceeded  home  to  breakfast,  and  went  back  again,  to 
perform  those  of  the  second. 

Entering  Manston's  empty  bedroom,  with  her  hands 
179 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

on  her  hips,  she  indifferently  cast  her  eyes  upon  the  bed, 
previously  to  dismantling  it. 

Whilst  she  looked,  she  thought  in  an  inattentive 
manner,  '  What  a  remarkably  quiet  sleeper  Mr.  Manston 
must  be ! '  The  upper  bed-clothes  were  flung  back, 
certainly,  but  the  bed  was  scarcely  disarranged.  '  Any- 
body would  almost  fancy,'  she  thought,  *  that  he  had 
made  it  himself  after  rising.' 

But  these  evanescent  thoughts  vanished  as  they 
had  come,  and  Mrs.  Crickett  set  to  work ;  she  dragged 
off  the  counterpane,  blankets  and  sheets,  and  stooped 
to  lift  the  pillows.  Thus  stooping,  something  arrested 
her  attention ;  she  looked  closely — more  closely — very 
closely.  *  Well,  to  be  sure !  *  was  all  she  could  say. 
The  clerk's  wife  stood  as  if  the  air  had  suddenly  set  to 
amber,  and  held  her  fixed  like  a  fly  in  it. 

The  object  of  her  wonder  was  a  trailing  brown  hair, 
very  little  less  than  a  yard  long,  which  proved  it  clearly 
to  be  a  hair  from  some  woman's  head.  She  drew  it  off 
the  pillow,  and  took  it  to  the  window ;  there  holding  it 
out  she  looked  fixedly  at  it,  and  became  utterly  lost  in 
meditation  :  her  gaze,  which  had  at  first  actively  settled 
on  the  hair,  involuntarily  dropped  past  its  object  by 
degrees  and  was  lost  on  the  floor,  as  the  inner  vision 
obscured  the  outer  one. 

She  at  length  moistened  her  lips,  returned  her  eyes 
to  the  hair,  wound  it  round  her  fingers,  put  it  in  some 
paper,  and  secreted  the  whole  in  her  pocket.  Mrs. 
Crickett's  thoughts  were  with  her  work  no  more  that 
morning. 

She  searched  the  house  from  roof-tree  to  cellar,  for 
some  other  trace  of  feminine  existence  or  appurtenance ; 
but  none  was  to  be  found. 

She  went  out  into  the  yard,  coal-hole,  stable,  hay- 
loft, green-house,  fowl-house,  and  piggery,  and  still  there 
was  no  sign.  Coming  in  again,  she  saw  a  bonnet, 
eagerly  pounced  upon  it ;  and  found  it  to  be  her  own. 

i8o 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

Hastily  completing  her  arrangements  in  the  other 
rooms,  she  entered  the  village  again,  and  called  at 
once  on  the  postmistress,  Elizabeth  Leat,  an  intimate 
friend  of  hers,  and  a  female  who  sported  several  unique 
diseases  and  afflictions. 

Mrs.  Crickett  unfolded  the  paper,  took  out  the  hair, 
and  waved  it  on  high  before  the  perplexed  eyes  of 
Elizabeth,  which  immediately  mooned  and  wandered 
after  it  like  a  cat's. 

'What  is  it?'  said  Mrs.  Leat,  contracting  her  eye- 
lids, and  stretching  out  towards  the  invisible  object  a 
narrow  bony  hand  that  would  have  been  an  unmitigated 
delight  to  the  pencil  of  Carlo  Crivelli. 

'  You  shall  hear,'  said  Mrs.  Crickett,  complacently 
gathering  up  the  treasure  into  her  own  fat  hand ;  and 
the  secret  was  then  solemnly  imparted,  together  with 
the  accident  of  its  discovery. 

A  shaving-glass  was  taken  down  from  a  nail,  laid 
on  its  back  in  the  middle  of  a  table  by  the  window, 
and  the  hair  spread  carefully  out  upon  it.  The  pair 
then  bent  over  the  table  from  opposite  sides,  their 
elbows  on  the  edge,  their  hands  supporting  their  heads, 
their  foreheads  nearly  touching,  and  their  eyes  upon  the 
hair. 

•  He  ha'  been  mad  a'ter  my  lady  Cytherea,'  said 
Mrs.  Crickett,  'and  'tis  my  very  belief  the  hair 
is' 

'  No  'tidn'.  Hers  idn'  so  dark  as  that,'  said 
Elizabeth. 

'  Elizabeth,  you  know  that  as  the  faithful  wife  of  a 
servant  of  the  Church,  I  should  be  glad  to  think  as  you 
do  about  the  girl.  Mind  I  don't  wish  to  say  anything 
against  Miss  Graye,  but  this  I  do  say,  that  I  believe 
her  to  be  a  nameless  thing,  and  she's  no  right  to  stick 
a  moral  clock  in  her  face,  and  deceive  the  -country  in 
such  a  way.  If  she  wasn't  of  a  bad  stock  at  the  outset 
she  was  bad  in  the  planten,  and  if  she  wasn't  bad  in 

N  i8i 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  planten,  she  was  bad  in  the  growen,  and  if  not 
in  the  growen,  she's  made  bad  by  w^at  she's  gone 
through  since.' 

'  But  I  have  another  reason  for  knowing  it  idn'  hers,* 
said  Mrs.  Leat. 

'  Ah !  I  know  whose  it  is  then — Miss  Aldclyffe's, 
upon  my  song  ! ' 

'  'Tis  the  colour  of  hers,  but  I  don't  believe  it  to  be 
hers  either.' 

'  Don't  you  believe  what  they  d'  say  about  her  and 
him?' 

'  I  say  nothen  about  that ;  but  you  don't  know  what 
I  know  about  his  letters.' 

'  What  about  'em  ?  ' 

'  He  d'  post  all  his  letters  here  except  those  for  one 
person,  and  they  he  d'  take  to  Budmouth.  My  son  is  in 
Budmouth  Post  Office,  as  you  know,  and  as  he  d'  sit  at 
desk  he  can  see  over  the  blind  of  the  window  all  the 
people  who  d'  post  letters.  Mr.  Manston  d'  unvariably 
go  there  wi'  letters  for  that  person ;  my  boy  d'  know 
'em  by  sight  well  enough  now.' 

'  Is  it  a  she  ?  ' 

*  'Tis  a  she.' 

'  What's  her  name  ?  ' 

'  The  Httle  stunpoll  of  a  fellow  couldn't  call  to  mind 
more  than  that  'tis  Miss  Somebody,  of  London.  How- 
ever, that's  the  woman  who  ha'  been  here,  depend  upon't 
— a  wicked  one — some  poor  street-wench  escaped  from 
Sodom,  I  warrant  ye.' 

'  Only  to  find  herself  in  Gomorrah,  seemingly.' 

'  That  may  be.' 

'  No,  no,  Mrs.  Leat,  this  is  clear  to  me.  'Tis  no 
miss  who  came  here  to  see  our  steward  last  night — 
whenever  she  came  or  wherever  she  vanished.  Do  you 
think  he  would  ha'  let  a  miss  get  here  how  she  could, 
go  away  how  she  would,  without  breakfast  or  help  of 
any  kind  ? ' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Elizabeth  shook  her  head — Mrs.  Crickett  looked  at 
her  solemnly. 

*  I  say  I  know  she  had  no  help  of  any  kind ;  I  know 
it  was  so,  for  the  grate  was  quite  cold  when  I  touched 
it  this  morning  with  these  fingers,  and  he  was  still  in 
bed.  No,  he  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  write  letters 
to  a  girl  and  then  treat  her  so  off-hand  as  that.  There's 
a  tie  between  'em  stronger  than  feelen.  She's  his 
wife.' 

'  He  married !  The  Lord  so  's,  what  shall  we  hear 
next  ?  Do  he  look  married  now  ?  His  are  not  the 
abashed  eyes  and  lips  of  a  married  man.' 

'Perhaps  she's  a  tame  one — but  she's  his  wife 
still' 

'  No,  no  :  he's  not  a  married  man.' 

*Yes,  yes,  he  is.  I've  had  three,  and  I  ought  to 
know.' 

'  Well,  well,'  said  Mrs.  Leat,  giving  way.  *  Whatever 
may  be  the  truth  on't  I  trust  Providence  will  settle  it 
all  for  the  best,  as  He  always  do,' 

*  Ay,  ay,  Elizabeth,'  rejoined  Mrs.  Crickett  with  a 
satirical  sigh,  as  she  turned  on  her  foot  to  go  home, 
'good  people  like  you  may  say  so,  but  I  have  always 
found  Providence  a  different  sort  of  feller.' 


5.  November  the  Twentieth 

It  was  Miss  Aldclyffe's  custom,  a  custom  originated 
by  her  father,  and  nourished  by  her  own  exclusiveness, 
to  unlock  the  post-bag  herself  every  morning,  instead  of 
allowing  the  duty  to  devolve  on  the  butler,  as  was  the 
case  in  most  of  the  neighbouring  county  families.  The 
bag  was  brought  upstairs  each  morning  to  her  dressing- 
room,  where  she  took  out  the  contents,  mostly  in  the 
presence  of  her  maid  and  Cytherea,  who  had  the  entree 
of  the  chamber  at  all  hours,  and  attended  there  in  the 
183 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

morning  at  a  kind  of  reception  on  a  small  scale,  which 
was  held  by  Miss  Aldclyffe  of  her  namesake  only. 

Here  she  read  her  letters  before  the  glass,  whilst 
undergoing  the  operation  of  being  brushed  and  dressed. 

'  What  woman  can  this  be,  I  wonder  ? '  she  said 
on  the  morning  succeeding  that  of  the  last  section. 
'  "  London,  N. !  "  It  is  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  ever 
had  a  letter  from  that  outlandish  place,  the  North  side 
of  London.' 

Cytherea  had  just  come  into  her  presence  to  learn 
if  there  was  anything  for  herself;  and  on  being  thus 
addressed,  walked  up  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  corner  of  the 
room  to  look  at  the  curiosity  which  had  raised  such  an 
exclamation.  But  the  lady,  having  opened  the  envelope 
and  read  a  few  lines,  put  it  quickly  in  her  pocket,  before 
Cytherea  could  reach  her  side. 

*  O,  'tis  nothing,'  she  said.  She  proceeded  to  make 
general  remarks  in  a  noticeably  forced  tone  of  sang- 
froid, from  which  she  soon  lapsed  into  silence.  Not 
another  word  was  said  about  the  letter  :  she  seemed 
very  anxious  to  get  her  dressing  done,  and  the  room 
cleared.  Thereupon  Cytherea  went  away  to  the  other 
window,  and  a  few  minutes  later  left  the  room  to  follow 
her  own  pursuits. 

It  was  late  when  Miss  Aldclyffe  descended  to  the 
breakfast-table,  and  then  she  seemed  there  to  no  pur- 
pose ;  tea,  coffee,  eggs,  cutlets,  and  all  their  acces- 
sories, were  left  absolutely  untasted.  The  next  that  was 
seen  of  her  was  when  walking  up  and  down  the  south 
terrace,  and  round  the  flower-beds ;  her  face  was  pale, 
and  her  tread  was  fitful,  and  she  crumpled  a  letter  in 
her  hand. 

Dinner-time  came  round  as  usual ;  she  did  not 
speak  ten  words,  or  indeed  seem  conscious  of  the 
meal ;  for  all  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  did  in  the  way  of 
eating,  dinner  might  have  been  taken  out  as  intact  ag 
it  was  taken  in. 

184 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

In  her  own  private  apartment  Miss  Aldclyffe  again 
pulled  out  the  letter  of  the  morning.  One  passage  in 
it  ran  thus  : — 

*  Of  course,  being  his  wife,  I  could  publish  the  fact,  and  compel 
him  to  acknowledge  me  at  any  moment,  notwithstanding  his  threats, 
and  reasonings  that  it  will  be  better  to  wait.  I  have  waited,  and 
waited  again,  and  the  time  for  such  acknowledgment  seems  no 
nearer  than  at  first.  To  show  you  how  patiently  I  have  waited 
I  can  tell  you  that  not  till  a  fortnight  ago,  when  by  stress  of  circum- 
stances I  had  been  driven  to  new  lodgings,  have  I  ever  assumed  my 
married  name,  solely  on  account  of  its  having  been  his  request  all 
along  that  I  should  not  do  it.  This  writing  to  you,  madam,  is  my 
first  disobedience,  and  I  am  justified  in  it.  A  woman  who  is  driven 
to  visit  her  husband  like  a  thief  in  the  night  and  then  sent  away 
like  a  street  dog — left  to  get  up,  unbolt,  unbar,  and  find  her  way 
out  of  the  house  as  she  best  may — is  justified  in  doing  anything. 

'  But  should  I  demand  of  him  a  restitution  of  rights,  there  would 
be  involved  a  publicity  which  I  could  not  endure,  and  a  noisy 
scandal  flinging  my  name  the  length  and  breadth  of  the  country. 

'  What  I  still  prefer  to  any  such  violent  means  is  that  you 
reason  with  him  privately,  and  compel  him  to  bring  me  home  to 
your  parish  in  a  decent  and  careful  manner,  in  the  way  that  would 
be  adopted  by  any  respectable  man,  whose  wife  had  been  living 
away  from  him  for  some  time,  by  reason,  say,  of  peculiar  family 
circumstances  which  had  caused  disunion,  but  not  enmity,  and  who 
at  length  was  enabled  to  reinstate  her  in  his  house. 

♦  You  will,  I  know,  oblige  me  in  this,  especially  as  knowledge 
of  a  peculiar  transaction  of  your  own,  which  took  place  some  years 
ago,  has  lately  come  to  me  in  a  singular  way.  I  will  not  at  present 
trouble  you  by  describing  how.  It  is  enough,  that  I  alone,  of  all 
people  living,  know  all  the  sides  of  the  story,  those  from  whom  I 
collected  it  having  each  only  a  partial  knowledge  which  confuses 
them  and  points  to  nothing.  One  person  knows  of  your  early 
engagement  and  its  sudden  termination  ;  another,  of  the  reason  of 
those  strange  meetings  at  inns  and  coffee-houses  ;  another,  of  what 
was  suflficient  to  cause  all  this,  and  so  on.  I  know  what  fits  one 
and  all  the  circumstances  like  a  key,  and  shows  them  to  be  the 
natural  outcrop  of  a  rational  (though  rather  rash)  line  of  conduct 
for  a  young  lady.  You  will  at  once  perceive  how  it  was  that  some 
at  least  of  these  things  were  revealed  to  me. 

^85 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'This  knowledge  then,  common  to,  and  secretly  treasured  by 
us  both,  is  the  ground  upon  which  I  beg  for  your  friendship  and 
help,  with  a  feeling  that  you  will  be  too  generous  to  refuse  it 
to  me. 

'  I  may  add  that,  as  yet,  my  husband  knows  nothing  of  this, 
neither  need  he  if  you  remember  my  request.' 

'  A  threat  —  a  flat  stinging  threat !  as  delicately 
wrapped  up  in  words  as  the  woman  could  do  it ;  a  threat 
from  a  miserable  unknown  creature  to  an  Aldclyffe,  and 
not  the  least  proud  member  of  the  family  either  !  A 
threat  on  his  account — O,  O  !  shall  it  be  ? ' 

Presently  this  humour  of  defiance  vanished,  and  the 
members  of  her  body  became  supple  again,  her  proceed- 
ings proving  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  give  way, 
Aldclyffe  as  she  was.  She  wrote  a  short  answer  to  Mrs. 
Mansion,  saying  civilly  that  Mr.  Mansion's  possession 
of  such  a  near  relation  was  a  fact  quite  new  to  herself, 
and  that  she  would  see  what  could  be  done  in  such  an 
unfortunate  afiair. 


6.  November  the  Twenty-First 

Manston  received  a  message  the  next  day  requesting 
his  attendance  at  the  House  punctually  at  eight  o'clock 
the  ensuing  evening.  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  brave  and 
imperious,  but  with  the  purpose  she  had  in  view  she 
could  not  look  him  in  the  face  whilst  daylight  shone 
upon  her. 

The  steward  was  shown  into  the  library.  On  entering 
it,  he  was  immediately  struck  with  the  unusual  gloom 
which  pervaded  the  apartment.  The  fire  was  dead  and 
dull,  one  lamp,  and  that  a  comparatively  small  one,  was 
burning  at  the  extreme  end,  leaving  the  main  proportion 
of  the  lofty  and  sombre  room  in  an  artificial  twilight, 
scarcely  powerful  enough  to  render  visible  the  titles  of 

1 86 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  folio  and  quarto  volumes  which  were  jammed  into 
the  lower  tiers  of  the  bookshelves. 

After  keeping  him  waiting  for  more  than  twenty 
minutes  (Miss  Aldclyffe  knew  that  excellent  recipe  for 
taking  the  stiffness  out  of  human  flesh,  and  for  extract- 
ing all  pre-arrangement  from  human  speech)  she  entered 
the  room. 

Manston  sought  her  eye  directly.  The  hue  of  her 
features  was  not  discernible,  but  the  calm  glance  she 
flung  at  him,  from  which  all  attempt  at  returning  his 
scrutiny  was  absent,  awoke  him  to  the  perception  that 
probably  his  secret  was  by  some  means  or  other 
known  to  her;  how  it  had  become  known  he  could 
not  tell. 

She  drew  forth  the  letter,  unfolded  it,  and  held  it 
up  to  him,  letting  it  hang  by  one  corner  from  between 
her  finger  and  thumb,  so  that  the  light  from  the  lamp, 
though  remote,  fell  directly  upon  its  surface. 

'  You  know  whose  writing  this  is  ?  '  she  said. 

He  saw  the  strokes  plainly,  instantly  resolving  to 
burn  his  ships  and  hazard  all  on  an  advance. 

'  My  wife's,'  he  said  calmly. 

His  quiet  answer  threw  her  off  her  balance.  She 
had  no  more  expected  an  answer  than  does  a  preacher 
when  he  exclaims  from  the  pulpit,  '  Do  you  feel  your 
sin  ?  '     She  had  clearly  expected  a  sudden  alarm. 

*  And  why  all  this  concealment  ? '  she  said  again,  her 
voice  rising,  as  she  vainly  endeavoured  to  control  her 
feelings,  whatever  they  were. 

'  It  doesn't  follow  that,  because  a  man  is  married,  he 
must  tell  every  stranger  of  it,  madam,'  he  answered,  just 
as  calmly  as  before. 

'  Stranger!  well,  perhaps  not ;  but,  Mr.  Manston,  why 
did  you  choose  to  conceal  it,  I  ask  again  ?  I  have  a 
perfect  right  to  ask  this  question,  as  you  will  perceive,  if 
you  consider  the  terms  of  my  advertisement.' 

*  I  will  tell  you.      There  were  two  simple  reasons. 

187 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  first  was  this  practical  one;  you  advertised  for  an 
unmarried  man,  if  you  remember  ?  ' 
'  Of  course  I  remember.' 

*  Well,  an  incident  suggested  to  me  that  I  should  try 
for  the  situation.  I  was  married ;  but,  knowing  that  in 
getting  an  office  where  there  is  a  restriction  of  this 
kind,  leaving  one's  wife  behind  is  always  accepted  as  a 
fulfilment  of  the  condition,  I  left  her  behind  for  awhile. 
The  other  reason  is,  that  these  terms  of  yours  afforded 
me  a  plausible  excuse  for  escaping  (for  a  short  time) 
the  company  of  a  woman  I  had  been  mistaken  in 
marrying.' 

*  Mistaken  !  what  was  she  ? '  the  lady  inquired. 

*  A  third-rate  actress,  whom  I  met  with  during  my 
stay  in  Liverpool  last  summer,  where  I  had  gone  to  fulfil 
a  short  engagement  with  an  architect.' 

'  Where  did  she  come  from  ?  ' 

'  She  is  an  American  by  birth,  and  I  grew  to  dislike 
her  when  we  had  been  married  a  week.' 
'  She  was  ugly,  I  imagine  ?  ' 
'  She  is  not  an  ugly  woman  by  any  means.' 

*  Up  to  the  ordinary  standard  ?  ' 

*  Quite  up  to  the  ordinary  standard — indeed,  hand- 
some.    After  a  while  we  quarrelled  and  separated.' 

*  You  did  not  ill-use  her,  of  course  ? '  said  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  with  a  little  sarcasm. 

*  I  did  not.' 

'  But  at  any  rate,  you  got  thoroughly  tired  of 
her.' 

Manston  looked  as  if  he  began  to  think  her  questions 
out  of  place;  however,  he  said  quietly,  'I  did  get  tired  of 
her.  I  never  told  her  so,  but  we  separated ;  I  to  come 
here,  bringing  her  with  me  as  far  as  London  and  leaving 
her  there  in  perfectly  comfortable  quarters  ;  and  though 
your  advertisement  expressed  a  single  man,  I  have  always 
intended  to  tell  you  the  whole  truth ;  and  this  was  when 
I  was  going  to  tell  it,  when  your  satisfaction  with  my 

1 88 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

careful  management  of  your  affairs  should  have  proved 
the  risk  to  be  a  safe  one  to  run.' 

She  bowed. 

'  Then  I  saw  that  you  were  good  enough  to  be 
interested  in  my  welfare  to  a  greater  extent  than  I 
could  have  anticipated  or  hoped,  judging  you  by  the 
frigidity  of  other  employers,  and  this  caused  me  to 
hesitate.  I  was  vexed  at  the  complication  of  affairs. 
So  matters  stood  till  three  nights  ago ;  I  was  then 
walking  home  from  the  pottery,  and  came  up  to  the 
railway.  The  down-train  came  along  close  to  me,  and 
there,  sitting  at  a  carriage  window,  I  saw  my  wife :  she 
had  found  out  my  address,  and  had  thereupon  deter- 
mined to  follow  me  here.  I  had  not  been  home  many 
minutes  before  she  came  in,  next  morning  early  she 
left  again ' 

'  Because  you  treated  her  so  cavalierly  ?  * 

*  And  as  I  suppose,  wrote  to  you  directly.  That's 
the  whole  story  of  her,  madam.'  Whatever  were 
Manston's  real  feelings  towards  the  lady  who  had  re- 
ceived his  explanation  in  these  supercilious  tones,  they 
remained  locked  within  him  as  within  a  casket  of 
steel. 

'  Did  your  friends  know  of  your  marriage,  Mr. 
Mansion  ? '  she  continued. 

'  Nobody  at  all ;  we  kept  it  a  secret  for  various 
reasons.' 

'  It  is  true  then  that,  as  your  wife  tells  me  in  this 
letter,  she  has  not  passed  as  Mrs.  Manston  till  within 
these  last  few  days  ? ' 

'  It  is  quite  true ;  I  was  in  receipt  of  a  very  small 
and  uncertain  income  when  we  married ;  and  so  she 
continued  playing  at  the  theatre  as  before  our  marriage, 
and  in  her  maiden  name.' 

'  Has  she  any  friends  ?  ' 

*  I  have  never  heard  that  she  has  any  in  England. 
She  came  over  here  on  some  theatrical  speculation,  as 

189 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

one  of  a  company  who  were  going  to  do  much,  but  who 
never  did  anything;  and  here  she  has  remained.' 

A  pause  ensued,  which  was  terminated  by  Miss 
Aldclyffe. 

*  I  understand,'  she  said.  '  Now,  though  I  have  no 
direct  right  to  concern  myself  with  your  private  affairs 
(beyond  those  which  arise  from  your  misleading  me  and 
getting  the  office  you  hold) ' 

'  As  to  that,  madam,'  he  interrupted,  rather  hotly, 
*  as  to  coming  here,  I  am  vexed  as  much  as  you.  Some- 
body, a  member  of  the  Institute  of  Architects — who,  I 
could  never  tell — sent  to  my  old  address  in  London 
your  advertisement  cut  from  the  paper ;  it  was  forwarded 
to  me;  I  wanted  to  get  away  from  Liverpool,  and  it 
seemed  as  if  this  was  put  in  my  way  on  purpose,  by 
some  old  friend  or  other.  I  answered  the  advertisement 
certainly,  but  I  was  not  particularly  anxious  to  come 
here,  nor  am  I  anxious  to  stay.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  descended  from  haughty  superiority 
to  womanly  persuasion  with  a  haste  which  was  almost 
ludicrous.  Indeed,  the  Quos  ego  of  the  whole  lecture 
had  been  less  the  genuine  menace  of  the  imperious 
ruler  of  Knapwater  than  an  artificial  utterance  to  hide 
a  failing  heart. 

'  Now,  now,  Mr.  Manston,  you  wrong  me ;  don't 
suppose  I  wish  to  be  overbearing,  or  anything  of  the 
kind ;  and  you  will  allow  me  to  say  this  much,  at  any 
rate,  that  I  have  become  interested  in  your  wife,  as  well 
as  in  yourself 

*  Certainly,  madam,'  he  said,  slowly,  like  a  man  feeling 
his  way  in  the  dark.  Manston  was  utterly  at  fault  now. 
His  previous  experience  of  the  effect  of  his  form  and 
features  upon  womankind  en  masse,  had  taught  him  to 
flatter  himself  that  he  could  account  by  the  same  law 
of  natural  selection  for  the  extraordinary  interest  Miss 
Aldclyffe  had  hitherto  taken  in  him,  as  an  unmarried 
man ;  an  interest  he  did  not  at  all  object  to,  seeing  that 

190 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

it  kept  him  near  Cytherea,  and  enabled  him,  a  man  of 
no  wealth,  to  rule  on  the  estate  as  if  he  were  its  lawful 
owner.  Like  Curius  at  his  Sabine  farm,  he  had  counted 
it  his  glory  not  to  possess  gold  himself,  but  to  have 
power  over  her  who  did.  But  at  this  hint  of  the  lady's 
wish  to  take  his  wife  under  her  wing  also,  he  was  per- 
plexed :  could  she  have  any  sinister  motive  in  doing  so  ? 
But  he  did  not  allow  himself  to  be  troubled  with  these 
doubts,  which  only  concerned  his  wife's  happiness. 

'  She  tells  me,'  continued  Miss  Aldclyffe,  '  how  utterly 
alone  in  the  world  she  stands,  and  that  is  an  additional 
reason  why  I  should  sympathize  with  her.  Instead, 
then,  of  requesting  the  favour  of  your  retirement  from 
the  post,  and  dismissing  your  interests  altogether,  I  will 
retain  you  as  my  steward  still,  on  condition  that  you 
bring  home  your  wife,  and  live  with  her  respectably,  in 
short,  as  if  you  loved  her ;  you  understand.  I  wish 
you  to  stay  here  if  you  grant  that  everything  shall  flow 
smoothly  between  yourself  and  her.' 

The  breast  and  shoulders  of  the  steward  rose,  as  if 
an  expression  of  defiance  was  about  to  be  poured  forth ; 
before  it  took  form,  he  controlled  himself  and  said,  in 
his  natural  voice — 

'  My  part  of  the  performance  shall  be  carried  out, 
madam.' 

'  And  her  anxiety  to  obtain  a  standing  in  the  world 
ensures  that  hers  will,'  replied  Miss  Aldclyffe.  'That 
will  be  satisfactory,  then.' 

After  a  few  additional  remarks,  she  gently  signified 
that  she  wished  to  put  an  end  to  the  interview.  The 
steward  took  the  hint  and  retired. 

He  felt  vexed  and  mortified ;  yet  in  walking  home- 
ward he  was  convinced  that  telling  the  whole  truth  as 
he  had  done,  with  the  single  exception  of  his  love  for 
Cytherea  (which  he  tried  to  hide  even  from  himself), 
had  never  served  him  in  better  stead  than  it  had  done 
that  night. 

191 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Mansion  went  to  his  desk  and  thought  of  Cytherea's 
beauty  with  the  bitterest,  wildest  regret.  .After  the  lapse 
of  a  few  minutes  he  calmed  himself  by  a  stoical  effort, 
and  wrote  the  subjoined  letter  to  his  wife  : — 

*  Knapwater, 

November  21,  1864. 

'  Dear  Eunice, — I  hope  you  reached  London  safely  after  your 
flighty  visit  to  me. 

'  As  I  promised,  I  have  thought  over  our  conversation  that  night, 
and  your  wish  that  your  coming  here  should  be  no  longer  delayed. 
After  all,  it  was  perfectly  natural  that  you  should  have  spoken  un- 
kindly as  you  did,  ignorant  as  you  were  of  the  circumstances  which 
bound  me. 

'  So  I  have  made  arrangements  to  fetch  you  home  at  once.  It 
is  hardly  worth  while  for  you  to  attempt  to  bring  with  you  any 
luggage  you  may  have  gathered  about  you  (beyond  mere  clothing). 
Dispose  of  superfluous  things  at  a  broker's  ;  your  bringing  them 
would  only  make  a  talk  in  this  parish,  and  lead  people  to  believe 
we  had  long  been  keeping  house  separately. 

'  Will  next  Monday  suit  you  for  coming  ?  You  have  nothing  to 
do  that  can  occupy  you  for  more  than  a  day  or  two,  as  far  as  I  can 
see,  and  the  remainder  of  this  week  will  afford  ample  time.  I  can 
be  in  London  the  night  before,  and  we  will  come  down  together  by 
the  mid-day  train. — Your  very  affectionate  husband, 

'^Eneas  Manston. 

*  Now,  of  course,  I  shall  no  longer  write  to  you  as  Mrs.  Rondley.' 

The  address  on  the  envelope  was — 

Mrs.  Manston, 

41  Charles  Square, 

HOXTON, 

London,  N. 

He  took  the  letter  to  the  house,  and  it  being 
too  late  for  the  country  post,  sent  one  of  the  stable- 

192 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

men  with  it  to  Casterbridge,  instead  of  troubling  to 
go  to  Budmouth  with  it  himself  as  heretofore.  He 
had  no  longer  any  necessity  to  keep  his  condition  a 
secret. 


7.  From  the  Twenty-Second  to  thb  Twenty- 
Seventh  OF  November 

But  the  next  morning  Manston  found  that  he  had 
been  forgetful  of  another  matter,  in  naming  the  following 
Monday  to  his  mfe  for  the  journey. 

The  fact  was  this.  A  letter  had  just  come,  remind- 
ing him  that  he  had  left  the  whole  of  the  succeeding 
week  open  for  an  important  business  engagement  with  a 
neighbouring  land-agent,  at  that  gentleman's  residence 
thirteen  miles  off.  The  particular  day  he  had  suggested 
to  his  wife,  had,  in  the  interim,  been  appropriated  by 
his  correspondent.  The  meeting  could  not  now  be 
put  off. 

So  he  wrote  again  to  his  wife,  stating  that  business, 
which  could  not  be  postponed,  called  him  away  from 
home  on  Monday,  and  would  entirely  prevent  him  com- 
ing all  the  way  to  fetch  her  on  Sunday  night  as  he  had 
intended,  but  that  he  would  meet  her  at  the  Carriford 
Road  Station  with  a  conveyance  when  she  arrived  there 
in  the  evening. 

The  next  day  came  his  wife's  answer  to  his  first  letter, 
in  which  she  said  that  she  would  be  ready  to  be  fetched 
at  the  time  named.  Having  already  written  his  second 
letter,  which  was  by  that  time  in  her  hands,  he  made  no 
further  reply. 

The  week  passed  away.  The  steward  had,  in  the 
meantime,  let  it  become  generally  known  in  the  village 
that  he  was  a  married  man,  and  by  a  little  judicious 
management,  sound  family  reasons  for  his  past  secrecy 
upon  the  subject,  which  were  floated  as  adjuncts  to  the 
193  N 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


story,  were  placidly  received;  they  seemed  so  natural 
and  justifiable  to  the  unsophisticated  minds  of  nine- 
tenths  of  his  neighbours,  that  curiosity  in  the  matter, 
beyond  a  strong  curiosity  to  see  the  lady's  face,  was 
well-nigh  extinguished. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


THE  EVENTS  OF 

A  DAY  AND  NIGHT 

1.  November  the  Twenty-Eighth.    Until  Ten  p.m. 

Monday  came,  the  day  named  for  Mrs.  Mansion's 
journey  from  London  to  her  husband's  house ;  a  day  of 
singular  and  great  events,  influencing  the  present  and 
future  of  nearly  all  the  personages  whose  actions  in  a 
complex  drama  form  the  subject  of  this  record. 

The  proceedings  of  the  steward  demand  the  first 
notice.  Whilst  taking  his  breakfast  on  this  particular 
morning,  the  clock  pointing  to  eight,  the  horse-and-gig 
that  was  to  take  him  to  Chettlewood  waiting  ready  at  the 
door,  Manston  hurriedly  cast  his  eyes  down  the  column 
of  Bradshaw  which  showed  the  details  and  duration  of 
the  selected  train's  journey. 

The  inspection  was  carelessly  made,  the  leaf  being 
kept  open  by  the  aid  of  one  hand,  whilst  the  other 
still  held  his  cup  of  coffee;  much  more  carelessly  than 
would  have  been  the  case  had  the  expected  new-comer 
been  Cytherea  Graye,  instead  of  his  lawful  wife. 

He  did  not  perceive,  branching  from  the  column 
down  which  his  finger  ran,  a  small  twist,  called  a 
shunting-line,  inserted  at  a  particular  place,  to  imply 
195 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

that  at  that  point  the  train  was  divided  into  two.  By 
this  oversight  he  understood  that  the  arrival  of  his  wife 
at  Carriford  Road  Station  would  not  be  till  late  in  the 
evening :  by  the  second  half  of  the  train,  containing 
the  third-class  passengers,  and  passing  two  hours  and 
three-quarters  later  than  the  previous  one,  by  which 
the  lady,  as  a  second-class  passenger  would  really  be 
brought. 

He  then  considered .  that  there  would  be  plenty  of 
time  for  him  to  return  from  his  day's  engagement  to 
meet  this  train.  He  finished  his  breakfast,  gave  proper 
and  precise  directions  to  his  servant  on  the  preparations 
that  were  to  be  made  for  the  lady's  reception,  jumped 
into  his  gig,  and  drove  off  to  Lord  Claydonfield's,  at 
Chettlewood. 

He  went  along  by  the  front  of  Knapwater  House. 
He  could  not  help  turning  to  look  at  what  he  knew  to 
be  the  window  of  Cytherea's  room.  Whilst  he  looked, 
a  hopeless  expression  of  passionate  love  and  sensuous 
anguish  came  upon  his  face  and  lingered  there  for  a 
few  seconds ;  then,  as  on  previous  occasions,  it  was 
resolutely  repressed,  and  he  trotted  along  the  smooth 
white  road,  again  endeavouring  to  banish  all  thought 
of  the  young  girl  whose  beauty  and  grace  had  so  en- 
slaved him. 

Thus  it  was  that  when,  in  the  evening  of  the  same 
day,  Mrs.  Manston  reached  Carriford  Road  Station, 
her  husband  was  still  at  Chettlewood,  ignorant  of  her 
arrival,  and  on  looking  up  and  down  the  platform, 
dreary  with  autumn  gloom  and  wind,  she  could  see  no 
sign  that  any  preparation  whatever  had  been  made  for 
her  reception  and  conduct  home. 

The  train  went  on.  She  waited,  fidgeted  with  the 
handle  of  her  umbrella,  walked  about,  strained  her  eyes 
into  the  gloom  of  the  chilly  night,  listened  for  wheels, 
tapped  with  her  foot,  and  showed  all  the  usual  signs 
of  annoyance  and  irritation  :  she  was  the  more  irritated 

ig6 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

in  that  this  seemed  a  second  and  culminating  instance 
of  her  husband's  neglect — the  first  having  been  shown 
in  his  not  fetching  her. 

Reflecting  awhile  upon  the  course  it  would  be  best 
to  take,  in  order  to  secure  a  passage  to  Knap  water, 
she  decided  to  leave  all  her  luggage,  except  a  dressing- 
bag,  in  the  cloak-room,  and  walk  to  her  husband's 
house,  as  she  had  done  on  her  first  visit.  She  asked 
one  of  the  porters  if  he  could  find  a  lad  to  go  with  her 
and  carry  her  bag :  he  offered  to  do  it  himself. 

The  porter  was  a  good-tempered,  shallow-minded, 
ignorant  man.  Mrs.  Manston,  being  apparently  in  very 
gloomy  spirits,  would  probably  have  preferred  walk- 
ing beside  him  without  saying  a  word :  but  her  com- 
panion would  not  allow  silence  to  continue  between 
them  for  a  longer  period  than  two  or  three  minutes 
together. 

He  had  volunteered  several  remarks  upon  her 
arrival,  chiefly  to  the  effect  that  it  was  very  unfortunate 
Mr.  Manston  had  not  come  to  the  station  for  her,  when 
she  suddenly  asked  him  concerning  the  inhabitants  of 
the  parish. 

He  told  her  categorically  the  names  of  the  chief — 
first  the  chief  possessors  of  property ;  then  of  brains ; 
then  of  good  looks.  As  first  among  the  latter  he 
mentioned  Miss  Cytherea  Graye. 

After  getting  him  to  describe  her  appearance  as 
completely  as  lay  in  his  power,  she  wormed  out  of  him 
the  statement  that  everybody  had  been  saying — before 
Mrs.  Mansion's  existence  was  heard  of— how  well  the 
handsome  Mr.  Manston  and  the  beautiful  Miss  Graye 
were  suited  for  each  other  as  man  and  wife,  and  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  was  the  only  one  in  the  parish  who  took 
no  interest  in  bringing  about  the  match. 

'  He  rather  liked  her  you  think  ?  ' 

The  porter  began  to  think  he  had  been  too  explicit, 
and  hastened  to  correct  the  error. 

o  197 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'O  no,  he  don't  care  a  bit  about  her,  ma'am,'  he 
said  solemnly. 

'  Not  more  than  he  does  about  me  ?  '' 

'  Not  a  bit.' 

'  Then  that  must  be  little  indeed,'  Mrs.  Mansion 
murmured.  She  stood  still,  as  if  reflecting  upon  the 
painful  neglect  her  words  had  recalled  to  her  mind; 
then,  with  a  sudden  impulse,  turned  round,  and  walked 
petulantly  a  few  steps  back  again  in  the  direction  of  the 
station. 

The  porter  stood  still  and  looked  surprised. 

'  I'll  go  back  again ;  yes,  indeed,  I'll  go  back  again  ! ' 
she  said  plaintively.  Then  she  paused  and  looked 
anxiously  up  and  down  the  deserted  road. 

'  No,  I  mustn't  go  back  now,'  she  continued,  in  a 
tone  of  resignation.  Seeing  that  the  porter  was  watch- 
ing her,  she  turned  about  and  came  on  as  before,  giving 
vent  to  a  slight  laugh. 

It  was  a  laugh  full  of  character ;  the  low  forced  laugh 
which  seeks  to  hide  the  painful  perception  of  a  humili- 
ating position  under  the  mask  of  indifference. 

Altogether  her  conduct  had  shown  her  to  be  what 
in  fact  she  was,  a  weak,  though  a  calculating  woman, 
one  clever  to  conceive,  weak  to  execute :  one  whose 
best-laid  schemes  were  for  ever  liable  to  be  frustrated 
by  the  ineradicable  blight  of  vacillation  at  the  critical 
hour  of  action. 

'  O,  if  I  had  only  known  that  all  this  was  going  to 
happen ! '  she  murmured  again,  as  they  paced  along 
upon  the  rustling  leaves. 

*  What  did  you  say,  ma'am  ? '  said  the  porter. 

'  O,  nothing  particular  ;  we  are  getting  near  the  old 
manor-house  by  this  time,  I  imagine  ? ' 

•  Very  near  now,  ma'am.' 

They  soon  reached  Mansion's  residence,  round  which 
the  wind  blew  mournfully  and  chill. 

Passing  under  the  detached  gateway,  they  entered  the 
198 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

porch.     The  porter  stepped  forward,  knocked  heavily, 

and  waited. 

Nobody  came. 

Mrs.  Manston  then  advanced  to  the  door  and  gave 
a  different  series  of  rappings — less  forcible,  but  more 
sustained. 

There  was  not  a  movement  of  any  kind  inside,  not 
a  ray  of  light  visible ;  nothing  but  the  echo  of  her  own 
knocks  through  the  passages,  and  the  dry  scratching  of 
the  withered  leaves  blown  about  her  feet  upon  the  floor 
of  the  porch. 

The  steward,  of  course,  was  not  at  home.  Mrs. 
Crickett,  not  expecting  that  anybody  would  arrive  till 
the  time  of  the  later  train,  had  set  the  place  in  order, 
laid  the  supper-table,  and  then  locked  the  door,  to  go 
into  the  village  and  converse  with  her  friends. 

'  Is  there  an  inn  in  the  village  ?  *  said  Mrs.  Manston, 
after  the  fourth  and  loudest  rapping  upon  the  iron- 
studded  old  door  had  resulted  only  in  the  fourth  and 
loudest  echo  from  the  passages  inside. 

♦  Yes,  ma'am.' 

<  Who  keeps  it  ? ' 

'  Farmer  Springrove.' 

'  I  will  go  there  to-night,'  she  said  decisively.  *  It 
is  too  cold,  and  altogether  too  bad,  for  a  woman  to 
wait  in  the  open  road  on  anybody's  account,  gentle  or 
simple.' 

They  went  down  the  park  and  through  the  gate,  into 
the  village  of  Carriford.  By  the  time  they  reached  the 
Three  Tranters,  it  was  verging  upon  ten  o'clock.  There, 
on  the  spot  where  two  months  earlier  in  the  season  the 
sunny  and  lively  group  of  villagers  making  cider  under 
the  trees  had  greeted  Cytherea's  eyes,  was  nothing  now 
intelligible  but  a  vast  cloak  of  darkness,  from  which  came 
the  low  sough  of  the  elms,  and  the  occasional  creak  of 
the  swinging  sign. 

They  went  to  the  door,  Mrs.  Manston  shivering ;  but 
199 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

less  from  the  cold,  than  from  the  dreariness  of  her  emo- 
tions.    Neglect  is  the  coldest  of  winter  winds. 

It  so  happened  that  Edward  Springrove  was  ex- 
pected to  arrive  from  London  either  on  that  evening  or 
the  next,  and  at  the  sound  of  voices  his  father  came  to 
the  door  fully  expecting  to  see  him.  A  picture  of  dis- 
appointment seldom  witnessed  in  a  man's  face  was 
visible  in  old  Mr.  Springrove's,  when  he  saw  that  the 
comer  was  a  stranger. 

Mrs.  Mansion  asked  for  a  room,  and  one  that  had 
been  prepared  for  Edward  was  immediately  named  as 
being  ready  for  her,  another  being  adaptable  for  Edward, 
should  he  come  in. 

Without  taking  any  refreshment,  or  entering  any 
room  downstairs,  or  even  lifting  her  veil,  she  walked 
straight  along  the  passage  and  up  to  her  apartment,  the 
chambermaid  preceding  her. 

*  If  Mr.  Manston  comes  to-night,'  she  said,  sitting 
on  the  bed  as  she  had  come  in,  and  addressing  the 
woman,  '  tell  him  I  cannot  see  him,' 

'  Yes,  ma'am.' 

The  woman  left  the  room,  and  Mrs.  Manston  locked 
the  door.  Before  the  servant  had  gone  down  more  than 
two  or  three  stairs,  Mrs.  Manston  unfastened  the  door 
again,  and  held  it  ajar. 

'  Bring  me  some  brandy,'  she  said. 

The  chambermaid  went  down  to  the  bar  and  brought 
up  the  spirit  in  a  tumbler.  When  she  came  into  the 
room,  Mrs.  Manston  had  not  removed  a  single  article 
of  apparel,  and  was  walking  up  and  down,  as  if  still 
quite  undecided  upon  the  course  it  was  best  to  adopt. 

Outside  the  door,  when  it  was  closed  upon  her,  the 
maid  paused  to  listen  for  an  instant.  She  heard  Mrs. 
Manston  talking  to  herself. 

*  This  is  welcome  home ! '  she  said, 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


2.  From  Ten  to  Half- past  Eleven  p.m. 

A  strange  concurrence  of  phenomena  now  con- 
fronts us. 

During  the  autumn  in  which  the  past  scenes  were 
enacted,  Mr.  Springrove  had  ploughed,  harrowed,  and 
cleaned  a  narrow  and  shaded  piece  of  ground,  lying  at 
the  back  of  his  house,  which  for  many  years  had  been 
looked  upon  as  irreclaimable  waste. 

The  couch-grass  extracted  from  the  soil  had  been 
left  to  wither  in  the  sun  ;  afterwards  it  was  raked  to- 
gether, lighted  in  the  customary  way,  and  now  lay 
smouldering  in  a  large  heap  in  the  middle  of  the 
plot. 

It  had  been  kindled  three  days  previous  to  Mrs. 
Manston's  arrival,  and  one  or  two  villagers,  of  a  more 
cautious  and  less  sanguine  temperament  than  Springrove, 
had  suggested  that  the  fire  was  almost  too  near  the 
back  of  the  house  for  its  continuance  to  be  unattended 
with  risk ;  for  though  no  danger  could  be  apprehended 
whilst  the  air  remained  moderately  still,  a  brisk  breeze 
blowing  towards  the  house  might  possibly  carry  a  spark 
across. 

'  Ay,  that's  true  enough,'  said  Springrove.  '  I  must 
look  round  before  going  to  bed  and  see  that  everything's 
safe;  but  to  tell  the  truth  I  am  anxious  to  get  the 
rubbish  burnt  up  before  the  rain  comes  to  wash  it  into 
ground  again.  As  to  carrying  the  couch  into  the  back 
field  to  burn,  and  bringing  it  back  again,  why,  'tis  more 
than  the  ashes  would  be  worth.' 

'  Well,  that's  very  true,'  said  the  neighbours,  and 
passed  on. 

Two  or  three  times  during  the  first  evening  after  the 
heap  was  lit,  he  went  to  the  back  door  to  take  a  survey. 
Before  bolting  and  barring  up  for  the  night,  he  made  a 
final  and  more  careful  examination.    The  slowly-smoking 

201 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

pile  showed  not  the  sUghtest  signs  of  activity.  Spring- 
rove's  perfectly  sound  conclusion  was,  that  as  long  as 
the  heap  was  not  stirred,  and  the  wind  continued  in 
the  quarter  it  blew  from  then,  the  couch  would  not 
flame,  and  that  there  could  be  no  shadow  of  danger  to 
anything,  even  a  combustible  substance,  though  it  were 
no  more  than  a  yard  off. 

The  next  morning  the  burning  couch  was  discovered 
in  precisely  the  same  state  as  when  he  had  gone  to  bed 
the  preceding  night.  The  heap  smoked  in  the  same 
manner  the  whole  of  that  day :  at  bed-time  the  farmer 
looked  towards  it,  but  less  carefully  than  on  the  first 
night. 

The  morning  and  the  whole  of  the  third  day  still  saw 
the  heap  in  its  old  smouldering  condition ;  indeed,  the 
smoke  was  less,  and  there  seemed  a  probability  that  it 
might  have  to  be  re-kindled  on  the  morrow. 

After  admitting  Mrs.  Manston  to  his  house  in  the 
evening,  and  hearing  her  retire,  Mr.  Springrove  returned 
to  the  front  door  to  listen  for  a  sound  of  his  son,  and 
inquired  concerning  him  of  the  railway-porter,  who  sat 
for  a  while  in  the  kitchen.  The  porter  had  not  noticed 
young  Mr.  Springrove  get  out  of  the  train,  at  which 
intelligence  the  old  man  concluded  that  he  would  pro- 
bably not  see  his  son  till  the  next  day,  as  Edward  had 
hitherto  made  a  point  of  coming  by  the  train  which  had 
brought  Mrs.  Manston. 

Half-an-hour  later  the  porter  left  the  inn,  Springrove 
at  the  same  time  going  to  the  door  to  listen  again  for 
an  instant,  then  he  walked  round  and  in  at  the  back 
of  the  house. 

The  farmer  glanced  at  the  heap  casually  and  indiffer- 
ently in  passing ;  two  nights  of  safety  seemed  to  ensure 
the  third ;  and  he  was  about  to  bolt  and  bar  as  usual, 
when  the  idea  struck  him  that  there  was  just  a  possi- 
bility of  his  son's  return  by  the  latest  train,  unlikely 
as  it  was  that  he  would  be  so  delayed.  The  old  man 
202 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

thereupon  left  the  door  unfastened,  looked  to  his  usual 
matters  indoors,  and  went  to  bed,  it  being  then  half- 
past  ten  o'clock. 

Farmers  and  horticulturists  well  know  that  it  is  in 
the  nature  of  a  heap  of  couch-grass,  when  kindled  in 
calm  weather,  to  smoulder  for  many  days,  and  even 
weeks,  until  the  whole  mass  is  reduced  to  a  powdery 
charcoal  ash,  displaying  the  while  scarcely  a  sign  of 
combustion  beyond  the  volcano-like  smoke  from  its 
summit;  but  the  continuance  of  this  quiet  process  is 
throughout  its  length  at  the  mercy  of  one  particular 
whim  of  Nature :  that  is,  a  sudden  breeze,  by  which  the 
heap  is  liable  to  be  fanned  into  a  flame  so  brisk  as  to 
consume  the  whole  in  an  hour  or  two. 

Had  the  farmer  narrowly  watched  the  pile  when  he 
went  to  close  the  door,  he  would  have  seen,  besides  the 
familiar  twine  of  smoke  from  its  summit,  a  quivering  of 
the  air  around  the  mass,  showing  that  a  considerable 
heat  had  arisen  inside. 

As  the  railway-porter  turned  the  corner  of  the  row 
of  houses  adjoining  the  Three  Tranters,  a  brisk  new 
wind  greeted  his  face,  and  spread  past  him  into  the 
village.  He  walked  along  the  high-road  till  he  came 
to  a  gate,  about  three  hundred  yards  from  the  inn. 
Over  the  gate  could  be  discerned  the  situation  of  the 
building  he  had  just  quitted.  He  carelessly  turned  his 
head  in  passing,  and  saw  behind  him  a  clear  red  glow 
indicating  the  position  of  the  couch-heap  :  a  glow  with- 
out a  flame,  increasing  and  diminishing  in  brightness  as 
the  breeze  quickened  or  fell,  like  the  coal  of  a  newly- 
lighted  cigar.  If  those  cottages  had  been  his,  he 
thought,  he  should  not  care  to  have  a  fire  so  near  them 
as  that — and  the  wind  rising.  But  the  cottages  not 
being  his,  he  went  on  his  way  to  the  station,  where  he 
was  about  to  resume  duty  for  the  night.  The  road  was 
now  quite  deserted  :  till  four  o'clock  the  next  morning, 
when  the  carters  would  go  by  to  the  stables,  there  was 
203 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

little  probability  of  any  human  being  passing  the  Three 
Tranters  Inn.  ' 

By  eleven,  everybody  in  the  house  was  asleep.  It 
truly  seemed  as  if  the  treacherous  element  knew  there 
had  arisen  a  grand  opportunity  for  devastation. 

At  a  quarter  past  eleven  a  slight  stealthy  crackle 
made  itself  heard  amid  the  increasing  moans  of  the 
night  wind;  the  heap  glowed  brighter  still,  and  burst 
into  a  flame ;  the  flame  sank,  another  breeze  entered 
it,  sustained  it,  and  it  grew  to  be  first  continuous  and 
weak,  then  continuous  and  strong. 

At  twenty  minutes  past  eleven  a  blast  of  wind 
carried  an  airy  bit  of  ignited  fern  several  yards  forward, 
in  a  direction  parallel  to  the  houses  and  inn,  and  there 
deposited  it  on  the  ground. 

Five  minutes  later  another  puff  of  wind  carried  a 
similar  piece  to  a  distance  of  five-and-twenty  yards, 
where  it  also  was  dropped  softly  on  the  ground. 

Still  the  wind  did  not  blow  in  the  direction  of  the 
houses,  and  even  now  to  a  casual  observer  they  would 
have  appeared  safe.  But  Nature  does  few  things 
directly.  A  minute  later  yet,  an  ignited  fragment  fell 
upon  the  straw  covering  of  a  long  thatched  heap  or 
*  grave '  of  mangel-wurzel,  lying  in  a  direction  at  right 
angles  to  the  house,  and  down  toward  the  hedge. 
There  the  fragment  faded  to  darkness. 

A  short  time  subsequent  to  this,  after  many  inter- 
mediate deposits  and  seemingly  baffled  attempts,  another 
fragment  fell  on  the  mangel-wurzel  grave,  and  continued 
to  glow ;  the  glow  was  increased  by  the  wind ;  the  straw 
caught  fire  and  burst  into  flame.  It  was  inevitable  that 
the  flame  should  run  along  the  ridge  of  the  thatch 
towards  a  piggery  at  the  end.  Yet  had  the  piggery  been 
tiled,  the  time-honoured  hostel  would  even  now  at  this 
last  moment  have  been  safe ;  but  it  was  constructed  as 
piggeries  are  mostly  constructed,  of  wood  and  thatch. 
The  hurdles  and  straw  roof  of  the  frail  erection  became 
204 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

ignited  in  their  turn,  and  abutting  as  the  shed  did  on 
the  back  of  the  inn,  flamed  up  to  the  eaves  of  the  main 
roof  in  less  than  thirty  seconds. 


Half-past  Eleven  to  Twelve  p.m. 

A  hazardous  length  of  time  elapsed  before  the 
inmates  of  the  Three  Tranters  knew  of  their  danger. 
When  at  length  the  discovery  was  made,  the  rush  was 
a  rush  for  bare  life. 

A  man's  voice  calling,  then  screams,  then  loud 
stamping  and  shouts  were  heard. 

Mr.  Springrove  ran  out  first.  Two  minutes  later 
appeared  the  ostler  and  chambermaid,  who  were  man 
and  wife.  The  inn,  as  has  been  stated,  was  a  quaint 
old  building,  and  as  inflammable  as  a  bee-hive;  it 
overhung  the  base  at  the  level  of  the  first  floor,  and 
again  overhung  at  the  eaves,  which  were  finished  with 
heavy  oak  barge-boards;  every  atom  in  its  substance, 
every  feature  in  its  construction,  favoured  the  fire. 

The  forked  flames,  lurid  and  smoky,  became  nearly 
lost  to  view,  bursting  forth  again  with  a  bound  and  loud 
crackle,  increased  tenfold  in  power  and  brightness.  The 
crackling  grew  sharper.  Long  quivering  shadows  began 
to  be  flung  from  the  stately  trees  at  the  end  of  the  house ; 
the  square  outline  of  the  church  tower,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  way,  which  had  hitherto  been  a  dark  mass  against 
a  sky  comparatively  light,  now  began  to  appear  as  a  light 
object  against  a  sky  of  darkness ;  and  even  the  narrow 
surface  of  the  flag-staff"  at  the  top  could  be  seen  in  its 
dark  surrounding,  brought  out  from  its  obscurity  by  the 
rays  from  the  dancing  light. 

Shouts  and  other  noises  increased  in  loudness  and 
frequency.     The  lapse  of  ten  minutes  brought  most  of 
the  inhabitants  of  that  end  of  the  village  into  the  street, 
followed  in  a  short  time  by  the  rector,  Mr.  Raunham. 
205 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Casting  a  hasty  glance  up  and  down,  he  beckoned  to 
one  or  two  of  the  men,  and  vanished  again.  In  a  short 
time  wheels  were  heard,  and  Mr.  Raunham  and  the  men 
reappeared  with  the  garden  engine,  the  only  one  in  the 
village,  except  that  at  Knapwater  House.  After  some 
little  trouble  the  hose  was  connected  with  a  tank  in  the 
old  stable-yard,  and  the  puny  instrument  began  to  play. 

Several  seemed  paralyzed  at  first,  and  stood  transfixed, 
their  rigid  faces  looking  like  red-hot  iron  in  the  glaring 
light.  In  the  confusion  a  woman  cried,  '  Ring  the  bells 
backwards ! '  and  three  or  four  of  the  old  and  supersti- 
tious entered  the  belfry  and  jangled  them  indescribably. 
Some  were  only  half  dressed,  and,  to  add  to  the  horror, 
among  them  was  Clerk  Crickett,  running  up  and  down 
with  a  face  streaming  with  blood,  ghastly  and  pitiful  to 
see,  his  excitement  being  so  great  that  he  had  not  the 
slightest  conception  of  how,  when,  or  where  he  came  by 
the  wound. 

The  crowd  was  now  busy  at  work,  and  tried  to  save 
a  little  of  the  furniture  of  the  inn.  The  only  room  they 
could  enter  was  the  parlour,  from  which  they  managed 
to  bring  out  the  bureau,  a  few  chairs,  some  old  silver 
candlesticks,  and  half-a-dozen  light  articles  ;  but  these 
were  all. 

Fiery  mats  of  thatch  slid  off  the  roof  and  fell  into 
the  road  with  a  deadened  thud,  whilst  white  flakes  of 
straw  and  wood-ash  were  flying  in  the  wind  like  feathers. 
At  the  same  time  two  of  the  cottages  adjoining,  upon 
which  a  little  water  had  been  brought  to  play  from  the 
rector's  engine,  were  seen  to  be  on  fire.  The  attenuated 
spirt  of  water  was  as  nothing  upon  the  heated  and  dry 
surface  of  the  thatched  roof;  the  fire  prevailed  without 
a  minute's  hindrance,  and  dived  through  to  the  rafters. 
Suddenly  arose  a  cry,  *  Where's  Mr.  Springrove  ? ' 

He  had  vanished  from  the  spot  by  the  churchyard 
wall,  where  he  had  been  standing  a  few  minutes  earlier. 

'  I  fancy  he's  gone  inside,*  said  a  voice. 
206 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  Madness  and  folly  !  what  can  he  save  ?  '  said  another. 
'  Good  God,  find  him  !     Help  here  ! ' 

A  wild  rush  was  made  at  the  door,  which  had  fallen 
to,  and  in  defiance  of  the  scorching  flame  that  burst  forth, 
three  men  forced  themselves  through  it.  Immediately 
inside  the  threshold  they  found  the  object  of  their  search 
lying  senseless  on  the  floor  of  the  passage. 

To  bring  him  out  and  lay  him  on  a  bank  was  the 
work  of  an  instant ;  a  basin  of  cold  water  was  dashed 
in  his  face,  and  he  began  to  recover  consciousness,  but 
very  slowly.  He  had  been  saved  by  a  miracle.  No 
sooner  were  his  preservers  out  of  the  building  than  the 
window-frames  lit  up  as  if  by  magic  with  deep  and  waving 
fringes  of  flames.  Simultaneously,  the  joints  of  the 
boards  forming  the  front  door  started  into  view  as  glow- 
ing bars  of  fire :  a  star  of  red  light  penetrated  the  centre, 
gradually  increasing  in  size  till  the  flames  rushed  forth. 

Then  the  staircase  fell. 

'  Everybody  is  out  safe,'  said  a  voice. 

•  Yes,  thank  God  ! '  said  three  or  four  others. 

'  O,  we  forgot  that  a  stranger  came  !  I  think  she 
is  safe.' 

*  I  hope  she  is,'  said  the  weak  voice  of  some  one 
coming  up  from  behind.     It  was  the  chambermaid's. 

Springrove  at  that  moment  aroused  himself;  he 
staggered  to  his  feet,  and  threw  his  hands  up  wildly. 

'  Everybody,  no !  no !  The  lady  who  came  by 
train,  Mrs.  Manston  !  I  tried  to  fetch  her  out,  but 
I  fell.' 

An  exclamation  of  horror  burst  from  the  crowd  ;  it 
was  caused  partly  by  this  disclosure  of  Springrove,  more 
by  the  added  perception  which  followed  his  words. 

An  average  interval  of  about  three  minutes  had 
elapsed  between  one  intensely  fierce  gust  of  wind  and 
the  next,  and  now  another  poured  over  them  ;  the  roof 
swayed,  and  a  moment  afterwards  fell  in  with  a  crash, 
pulling  the  gable  after  it,  and  thrusting  outwards  the 
207 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

front  wall  of  wood-work,  which  fell  into  the  road  with  a 
rumbling  echo ;  a  cloud  of  black  dust,  myriads  of  sparks, 
and  a  great  outburst  of  flame  followed  the  uproai-  of 
the  fall. 

'  Who  is  she  ?  what  is  she  ? '  burst  from  every  lip 
again  and  again,  incoherently,  and  without  leaving  a 
sufficient  pause  for  a  reply,  had  a  reply  been  volunteered. 

The  autumn  wind,  tameless,  and  swift,  and  proud, 
still  blew  upon  the  dying  old  house,  which  was  con- 
structed so  entirely  of  combustible  materials  that  it 
burnt  almost  as  fiercely  as  a  corn  rick.  The  heat  in  the 
road  increased,  and  now  for  an  instant  at  the  height  of 
the  conflagration  all  stood  still,  and  gazed  silently,  awe- 
struck and  helpless,  in  the  presence  of  so  irresistible  an 
enemy.  Then,  with  minds  full  of  the  tragedy  unfolded 
to  them,  they  rushed  forward  again  with  the  obtuse 
directness  of  waves,  to  their  labour  of  saving  goods 
from  the  houses  adjoining,  which  it  was  evident  were 
all  doomed  to  destruction. 

The  minutes  passed  by.  The  Three  Tranters  Inn 
sank  into  a  mere  heap  of  red-hot  charcoal :  the  fire 
pushed  its  way  down  the  row  as  the  church  clock  oppo- 
site slowly  struck  the  hour  of  midnight,  and  the  be- 
wildered chimes,  scarcely  heard  amid  the  crackling  of 
the  flames,  wandered  through  the  wayward  air  of  the 
Old  Hundred-and-Thirteenth  Psalm. 


4.  Nine  to  Eleven  p.m. 

Manston  mounted  his  gig  and  set  out  from  Chettle- 
wood  that  evening  in  no  very  enviable  frame  of  mind. 
The  thought  of  domestic  life  in  Knapwater  Old  House, 
with  the  now  eclipsed  wife  of  the  past,  was  more  than 
disagreeable,  was  positively  distasteful  to  him. 

Yet  he  knew  that  the  influential  position,  which,  from 
whatever  fortunate  cause,  he  held  on  Miss  Aldclyffe's 
208 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

manor,  would  never  again  fall  to  his  lot  on  any  other ; 
and  he  tacitly  assented  to  this  dilemma,  hoping  that 
some  consolation  or  other  would  soon  suggest  itself  to 
him  ;  married  as  he  was,  he  was  near  Cytherea. 

He  occasionally  looked  at  his  watch  as  he  drove 
along  the  lanes,  timing  the  pace  of  his  horse  by  the 
hour,  that  he  might  reach  Carriford  Road  Station  just 
soon  enough  to  meet  the  last  London  train. 

He  soon  began  to  notice  in  the  sky  a  slight  yellow 
halo,  near  the  horizon.  It  rapidly  increased  ;  it  changed 
colour,  and  grew  redder ;  then  the  glare  visibly  bright- 
ened and  dimmed  at  intervals,  showing  that  its  origin 
was  affected  by  the  strong  wind  prevailing. 

Manston  reined  in  his  horse  on  the  summit  of  a  hill, 
and  considered. 

'  It  is  a  rick-yard  on  fire,'  he  thought ;  '  no  house 
could  produce  such  a  raging  flame  so  suddenly.' 

He  trotted  on  again,  attempting  to  particularize  the 
local  features  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  fire ;  but  this 
it  was  too  dark  to  do,  and  the  excessive  winding  of  the 
roads  misled  him  as  to  its  direction,  not  being  an  old 
inhabitant  of  the  district,  or  a  countryman  used  to  form- 
ing such  judgments ;  whilst  the  brilliancy  of  the  light 
shortened  its  real  remoteness  to  an  apparent  distance  of 
not  more  than  half:  it  seemed  so  near  that  he  again 
stopped  his  horse,  this  time  to  listen;  but  he  could 
hear  no  sound. 

Entering  now  a  narrow  valley,  the  sides  of  which 
obscured  the  sky  to  an  angle  of  perhaps  thirty  or  forty 
degrees  above  the  mathematical  horizon,  he  was  obliged 
to  suspend  his  judgment  till  he  was  in  possession  of 
further  knowledge,  having  however  assumed  in  the 
interim,  that  the  fire  was  somewhere  between  Carriford 
Road  Station  and  the  village. 

The  self-same  glare  had  just  arrested  the  eyes  of 
another  man.  He  was  at  that  minute  gliding  along 
several  miles  to  the  east  of  the  steward's  position,  but 
209  o 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

nearing  the  same  point  as  that  to  which  Manston  tended. 
The  younger  Edward  Springrove  was  returning  from 
London  to  his  father's  house  by  the  identical  train 
which  the  steward  was  expecting  to  bring  his  wife,  the 
truth  being  that  Edward's  lateness  was  owing  to  the 
simplest  of  all  causes,  his  temporary  want  of  money, 
which  led  him  to  make  a  slow  journey  for  the  sake  of 
travelling  at  third-class  fare. 

Springrove  had  received  Cytherea's  bitter  and  ad- 
monitory letter,  and  he  was  clearly  awakened  to  a  per- 
ception of  the  false  position  in  which  he  had  placed 
himself,  by  keeping  silence  at  Budmouth  on  his  long 
engagement.  An  increasmg  reluctance  to  put  an  end 
to  those  few  days  of  ecstasy  with  Cytherea  had  over- 
ruled his  conscience,  and  tied  his  tongue  till  speaking 
was  too  late. 

'  Why  did  I  do  it  ?  how  could  I  dream  of  loving 
her  ? '  he  asked  himself  as  he  walked  by  day,  as  he 
tossed  on  his  bed  by  night :   '  miserable  folly  ! ' 

An  impressionable  heart  had  for  years — perhaps  as 
many  as  six  or  seven  years — been  distracting  him,  by 
unconsciously  setting  itself  to  yearn  for  somebody  want- 
ing, he  scarcely  knew  whom.  Echoes  of  himself,  though 
rarely,  he  now  and  then  found.  Sometimes  they  were 
men,  sometimes  women,  his  cousin  Adelaide  being  one 
of  these;  for  in  spite  of  a  fashion  which  pervades  the 
whole  community  at  the  present  day — the  habit  of 
exclaiming  that  woman  is  not  undeveloped  man,  but 
diverse,  the  fact  remains  that,  after  all,  women  are  Man- 
kind, and  that  in  many  of  the  sentiments  of  life  the 
difference  of  sex  is  but  a  difference  of  degree. 

But  the  indefinable  helpmate  to  the  remoter  sides  of 
himself  still  continued  invisible.  He  grew  older,  and 
concluded  that  the  ideas,  or  rather  emotions,  which 
possessed  him  on  the  subject,  were  probably  too  unreal 
ever  to  be  found  embodied  in  the  flesh  of  a  woman. 
Thereupon,  he  developed  a  plan  of  satisfying  his  dreams 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

by  wandering  away  to  the  heroines  of  poetical  imagina- 
tion, and  took  no  further  thought  on  the  earthly  realiza- 
tion of  his  formless  desire,  in  more  homely  matters 
satisfying  himself  with  his  cousin. 

Cytherea  appeared  in  the  sky :  his  heart  started  up 
and  spoke : 

'  'Tis  vShe,  and  here 
Lo  !  I  unclothe  and  clear 
My  wishes'  cloudy  character.' 

Some  women  kindle  emotion  so  rapidly  in  a  man's 
heart  that  the  judgment  cannot  keep  pace  with  its  rise, 
and  finds,  on  comprehending  the  situation,  that  faith- 
fulness to  the  old  love  is  already  treachery  to  the  new. 
Such  women  are  not  necessarily  the  greatest  of  their 
sex,  but  there  are  very  few  of  them.     Cytherea  was  one. 

On  receiving  the  letter  from  her  he  had  taken  to 
thinking  over  these  things,  and  had  not  answered  it  at 
all.  But  '  hungry  generations '  soon  tread  down  the 
muser  in  a  city.  At  length  he  thought  of  the  strong 
necessity  of  living.  After  a  dreary  search,  the  negligence 
of  which  was  ultimately  overcome  by  mere  conscientious- 
ness, he  obtained  a  situation  as  assistant  to  an  archi- 
tect in  the  neighbourhood  of  Charing  Cross  :  the  duties 
would  not  begin  till  after  the  lapse  of  a  month. 

He  could  not  at  first  decide  whither  he  should  go 
to  spend  the  intervening  time ;  but  in  the  midst  of  his 
reasonings  he  found  himself  on  the  road  homeward, 
impelled  by  a  secret  and  unowned  hope  of  getting  a  last 
glimpse  of  Cytherea  there. 


5.  Midnight 

It  was  a  quarter  to  twelve  when  Manston  drove  into 
the  station-yard.  The  train  was  punctual,  and  the  bell, 
announcing  its  arrival,  rang  as  he  crossed  the  booking- 
office  to  go  out  upon  the  platform. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

The  porter  who  had  accompanied  Mrs.  Mansion  to 
Carriford,  and  had  returned  to  the  station  on  his  night 
duty,  recognized  the  steward  as  he  entered,  and  imme- 
diately came  towards  him. 

'  Mrs.  Manston  came  by  the  nine  o'clock  train,  sir,' 
he  said. 

The  steward  gave  vent  to  an  expression  of  vexation. 

'  Her  luggage  is  here,  sir,'  the  porter  said. 

'  Put  it  up  behind  me  in  the  gig  if  it  is  not  too  much,' 
said  Manston. 

'  Directly  this  train  is  in  and  gone,  sir.' 

The  man  vanished  and  crossed  the  line  to  meet  the 
entering  train. 

'  Where  is  that  fire  ? '  Manston  said  to  the  booking- 
clerk. 

Before  the  clerk  could  speak,  another  man  ran  in 
and  answered  the  question  without  having  heard  it. 

'  Half  Carriford  is  burnt  down,  or  will  be  1'  he  ex^ 
claimed.  '  You  can't  see  the  flames  from  this  station 
on  account  of  the  trees,  but  step  on  the  bridge — 'tis 
tremendous ! ' 

He  also  crossed  the  line  to  assist  at  the  entry  of  the 
train,  which  came  in  the  next  minute. 

The  steward  stood  in  the  office.  One  passenger 
alighted,  gave  up  his  ticket,  and  crossed  the  room  in 
front  of  Manston  :  a  young  man  with  a  black  bag  and 
umbrella  in  his  hand.  He  passed  out  of  the  door, 
down  the  steps,  and  struck  out  into  the  darkness. 

'  Who  was  that  young  man  ? '  said  Manston,  when 
the  porter  had  returned.  The  young  man,  by  a  kind 
of  magnetism,  had  drawn  the  steward's  thoughts  after 
him. 

'  He's  an  architect.' 

'  My  own  old  profession.  I  could  have  sworn  it 
by  the  cut  of  him,'  Manston  murmured.  *  What's  his 
name  ?  '  he  said  again. 

'  Springrove — Farmer  Springrove's  son,  Edward.' 

212 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'Farmer  Springrove's  son,  Edward,'  the  steward  re- 
peated to  himself,  and  considered  a  matter  to  which  the 
words  had  painfully  recalled  his  mind. 

The  matter  was  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mention  of  the 
young  man  as  Cytherea's  lover,  which,  indeed,  had 
scarcely  ever  been  absent  from  his  thoughts. 

'  But  for  the  existence  of  my  wife  that  man  might 
have  been  my  rival,'  he  pondered,  following  the  porter, 
who  had  now  come  back  to  him,  into  the  luggage-room. 
And  whilst  the  man  was  carrying  out  and  putting  in 
one  box,  which  was  sufficiently  portable  for  the  gig. 
Mansion  still  thought,  as  his  eyes  watched  the  process — 

'  But  for  my  wife,  Springrove  might  have  been  my 
rival.' 

He  examined  the  lamps  of  his  gig,  carefully  laid  out 
the  reins,  mounted  the  seat  and  drove  along  the  turn- 
pike-road towards  Knapwater  Park. 

The  exact  locality  of  the  fire  was  plain  to  him  as  he 
neared  home.  He  soon  could  hear  the  shout  of  men, 
the  flapping  of  the  flames,  the  crackling  of  burning  wood, 
and  could  smell  the  smoke  from  the  conflagration. 

Of  a  sudden,  a  few  yards  a-head,  within  the  compass 
of  the  rays  from  the  right-hand  lamp,  burst  forward  the 
figure  of  a  man.  Having  been  walking  in  darkness  the 
newcomer  raised  his  hands  to  his  eyes,  on  approaching 
nearer,  to  screen  them  from  the  glare  of  the  reflector. 

Manston  saw  that  he  was  one  of  the  villagers :  a 
small  farmer  originally,  who  had  drunk  himself  down  to 
a  day-labourer  and  reputed  poacher. 

'  Hoy  ! '  cried  Manston,  aloud,  that  the  man  might 
step  aside  out  of  the  way. 

'  Is  that  Mr.  Manston  ?  '  said  the  man. 

•Yes.' 

'  Somebody  ha'  come  to  Carriford  :  and  the  rest  of  it 
may  concern  you,  sir.' 

'  WeU,  well.' 

'  Did  you  expect  Mrs.  Manston  to-night,  sir?' 

p  213 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  Yes,  unfortunately  she's  come,  I  know,  and  asleep 
long  before  this  time,  I  suppose.' 

The  labourer  leant  his  elbow  upon  the  shaft  of  the 
gig  and  turned  his  face,  pale  and  sweating  from  his  late 
work  at  the  fire,  up  to  Manston's. 

'  Yes,  she  did  come,'  he  said.  .  .  .  '  I  beg  pardon, 
sir,  but  I  should  be  glad  of — of ' 

« What  ? ' 

'  Glad  of  a  trifle  for  bringen  ye  the  news.' 

'  Not  a  farthing !  I  didn't  want  your  news,  I  knew 
she  was  come.' 

'  Won't  you  give  me  a  shillen,  sir  ?  ' 

'  Certainly  not.' 

'  Then  will  you  lend  me  a  shillen,  sir  ?  I  be  tired 
out,  and  don't  know  what  to  do.  If  I  don't  pay  you 
back  some  day  I'll  be  d d.' 

'  The  devil  is  so  cheated  that  perdition  isn't  worth  a 
penny  as  a  security.' 

'Oh!' 

'  Let  me  go  on,'  said  Manston. 

'  Thy  wife  is  dead ;  that's  the  rest  o'  the  news,'  said 
the  labourer  slowly.  He  waited  for  a  reply ;  none 
came. 

'  She  went  to  the  Three  Tranters,  because  she 
couldn't  get  into  thy  house,  the  burnen  roof  fell  in 
upon  her  before  she  could  be  called  up,  and  she's  a 
cinder,  as  thou'lt  be  some  day.' 

'  That  will  do,  let  me  drive  on,'  said  the  steward 
calmly. 

Expectation  of  a  concussion  may  be  so  intense  that 
its  failure  strikes  the  brain  with  more  force  than  its 
fulfilment.  The  labourer  sank  back  into  the  ditch. 
Such  a  Cushi  could  not  realize  the  possibility  of  such  an 
unmoved  David  as  this. 

Manston  drove  hastily  to  the  turning  of  the  road, 
tied  his  horse,  and  ran  on  foot  to  the  site  of  the  fire. 

The  stagnation  caused  by  the  awful  accident  had 
2 14 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

been  passed  through,  and  all  hands  were  helping  to 
remove  from  the  remaining  cottages  what  furniture  they 
could  lay  hold  of;  the  thatch  of  the  roofs  being  already 
on  fire.  The  Knapwater  fire-engine  had  arrived  on  the 
spot,  but  it  was  small,  and  ineffectual.  A  group  was 
collected  round  the  rector,  who  in  a  coat  which  had 
become  bespattered,  scorched,  and  torn  in  his  exertions, 
was  directing  on  one  hand  the  proceedings  relative  to 
the  removal  of  goods  into  the  church,  and  with  the  other 
was  pointing  out  the  spot  on  which  it  was  most  desirable 
that  the  puny  engines  at  their  disposal  should  be  made 
to  play.  Every  tongue  was  instantly  silent  at  the  sight 
of  Mansion's  pale  and  clear  countenance,  which  con- 
trasted strangely  with  the  grimy  and  streaming  faces  of 
the  toiling  villagers. 

'  Was  she  burnt  ? '  he  said  in  a  firm  though  husky 
voice,  and  stepping  into  the  illuminated  area.  The 
rector  came  to  him,  and  took  him  aside.  '  Is  she 
burnt  ?  '  repeated  Manston. 

'  She  is  dead  :  but  thank  God,  she  was  spared  the 
horrid  agony  of  burning,'  the  rector  said  solemnly ;  *  the 
roof  and  gable  fell  in  upon  her,  and  crushed  her. 
Instant  death  must  have  followed.' 

'  Why  was  she  here  ?  '  said  Manston. 

'  From  what  we  can  hurriedly  collect,  it  seems  that 
she  found  the  door  of  your  house  locked,  and  concluded 
that  you  had  retired,  the  fact  being  that  your  servant, 
Mrs.  Crickett,  had  gone  out  to  supper.  She  then  came 
back  to  the  inn  and  went  to  bed.' 

'  Where's  the  landlord  ?  '  said  Manston. 

Mr.  Springrove  came  up,  walking  feebly,  and  wrapped 
in  a  cloak,  and  corroborated  the  evidence  given  by  the 
rector. 

'  Did  she  look  ill,  or  annoyed,  when  she  came  ? '  said 
the  steward. 

*I  can't  say.     I  didn't  see;   but  I  think ' 

«  What  do  you  think  ?  ' 

2IS 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  She  was  much  put  out  about  something.' 

*  My  not  meeting  her,  naturally/  murmured  the  other, 
lost  in  reverie.  He  turned  his  back  on  Springrove  and 
the  rector,  and  retired  from  the  shining  light. 

Everything  had  been  done  that  could  be  done  with 
the  limited  means  at  their  disposal.  The  whole  row  of 
houses  was  destroyed,  and  each  presented  itself  as  one 
stage  of  a  series,  progressing  from  smoking  ruins  at  the 
end  where  the  inn  had  stood,  to  a  partly  flaming  mass 
— glowing  as  none  but  wood  embers  will  glow — at  the 
other. 

A  feature  in  the  decline  of  town  fires  was  noticeably 
absent  here — steam.  There  was  present  what  is  not 
observable  in  towns — incandescence. 

The  heat,  and  the  smarting  effect  upon  their  eyes  of 
the  strong  smoke  from  the  burning  oak  and  deal,  had 
at  last  driven  the  villagers  back  from  the  road  in  front  of 
the  houses,  and  they  now  stood  in  groups  in  the  church- 
yard, the  surface  of  which,  raised  by  the  interments  of 
generations,  stood  four  or  five  feet  above  the  level  of  the 
road,  and  almost  even  with  the  top  of  the  low  wall 
dividing  one  from  the  other.  The  headstones  stood 
forth  whitely  against  the  dark  grass  and  yews,  their 
brightness  being  repeated  on  the  white  smock-frocks  of 
some  of  the  labourers,  and  in  a  mellower,  ruddier  form 
on  their  faces  and  hands,  on  those  of  the  grinning 
gargoyles,  and  on  other  salient  stonework  of  the  weather- 
beaten  church  in  the  background. 

The  rector  had  decided  that,  under  the  distressing 
circumstances  of  the  case,  there  would  be  no  sacrilege 
in  placing  in  the  church,  for  the  night,  the  pieces  of 
furniture  and  utensils  which  had  been  saved  from  the 
several  houses.  There  was  no  other  place  of  safety  for 
them,  and  they  accordingly  were  gathered  there. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


6.  Half-past  Twelve  to  One  a.m. 

Mansion,  when  he  retired  to  meditate,  had  walked 
round  the  churchyard,  and  now  entered  the  opened 
door  of  the  building. 

He  mechanically  pursued  his  way  round  the  piers  into 
his  own  seat  in  the  north  aisle.  The  lower  atmosphere 
of  this  spot  was  shaded  by  its  own  wall  from  the  shine 
which  streamed  in  over  the  window-sills  on  the  same 
side.  The  only  light  burning  inside  the  church  was  a 
small  tallow  candle,  standing  in  the  font,  in  the  opposite 
aisle  of  the  building  to  that  in  which  Manston  had  sat 
down,  and  near  where  the  furniture  was  piled.  The 
candle's  mild  rays  were  overpowered  by  the  ruddier 
light  from  the  ruins,  making  the  weak  flame  to  appear 
like  the  moon  by  day. 

Sitting  there  he  saw  Farmer  Springrove  enter  the 
door,  followed  by  his  son  Edward,  still  carrying  his 
traveUing-bag  in  his  hand.  They  were  speaking  of  the 
sad  death  of  Mrs.  Manston,  but  the  subject  was  reUn- 
quished  for  that  of  the  houses  burnt. 

This  row  of  houses,  running  from  the  inn  eastward, 
had  been  built  under  the  following  circumstances  : — 

Fifty  years  before  this  date,  the  spot  upon  which  the 
cottages  afterwards  stood  was  a  blank  strip,  along  the 
side  of  the  village  street,  difficult  to  cultivate,  on  account 
of  the  outcrop  thereon  of  a  large  bed  of  flints  called 
locally  a  '  lanch '  or  '  lanchet.' 

The  Aldclyffe  then  in  possession  of  the  estate  con- 
ceived the  idea  that  a  row  of  cottages  would  be  an 
improvement  to  the  spot,  and  accordingly  granted  leases 
of  portions  to  several  respectable  inhabitants.  Each 
lessee  was  to  be  subject  to  the  payment  of  a  merely 
nominal  rent  for  the  whole  term  of  lives,  on  condition 
that  he  built  his  own  cottage,  and  delivered  it  up  intact 
at  the  end  of  the  term, 

217 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Those  who  had  built  had,  one  by  one,  reUnquished 
their  indentures,  either  by  sale  or  barker,  to  Farmer 
Springrove's  father.  New  lives  were  added  in  some 
cases,  by  payment  of  a  sum  to  the  lord  of  the  manor, 
&c.,  and  all  the  leases  were  now  held  by  the  farmer 
himself,  as  one  of  the  chief  provisions  for  his  old  age. 

The  steward  had  become  interested  in  the  following 
conversation : — 

'  Try  not  to  be  so  depressed,  father ;  they  are  all 
insured.' 

The  words  came  from  Edward  in  an  anxious  tone. 

'  You  mistake,  Edward ;  they  are  not  insured,'  re- 
turned the  old  man  gloomily. 

'  Not  ? '  the  son  asked. 

'  Not  one ! '  said  the  farmer, 

'  In  the  Helmet  Fire  Office,  surely  ?  ' 

'  They  were  insured  there  every  one.  Six  months 
ago  the  office,  which  had  been  raising  the  premiums 
on  thatched  premises  higher  for  some  years,  gave  up 
insuring  them  altogether,  as  two  or  three  other  fire- 
offices  had  done  previously,  on  account,  they  said,  of 
the  uncertainty  and  greatness  of  the  risk  of  thatch  un- 
detached.  Ever  since  then  I  have  been  continually 
intending  to  go  to  another  office,  but  have  never  gone. 
Who  expects  a  fire  ?  ' 

'  Do  you  remember  the  terms  of  the  leases  ? '  said 
Edward,  still  more  uneasily. 

'  No,  not  particularly,'  said  his  father  absently. 

'  Where  are  they  ?  ' 

*  In  the  bureau  there ;  that's  why  I  tried  to  save  it 
first,  among  other  things.' 

'  Well,  we  must  see  to  that  at  once.' 

*  What  do  you  want  ? ' 
'  The  key.' 

They  went  into  the  south  aisle,  took  the  candle  from 
the  font,  and  then  proceeded  to  open  the  bureau,  which 
had  been  placed  in  a  corner  under  the  gallery.     Both 
218 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

leant  over  upon  the  flap ;  Edward  holding  the  candle, 
whilst  his  father  took  the  pieces  of  parchment  from 
one  of  the  drawers,  and  spread  the  first  out  before 
him. 

'  You  read  it,  Ted.  I  can't  see  without  my  glasses. 
This  one  will  be  sufficient.  The  terms  of  all  are  the 
same.' 

Edward  took  the  parchment,  and  read  quickly  and 
indistinctly  for  some  time;  then  aloud  and  slowly  as 
follows  : — 

*  ^ntJ  the  said  John  Springrove  for  himself  his  heirs 
executors  and  administrators  doth  covenant  and  agree 
with  the  said  Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe  his  heirs  and 
assigns  that  he  the  said  John  Springrove  his  heirs  afid 
assigns  during  the  said  term  shall  pay  unto  the  said 
Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe  his  heirs  and  assigns  the  clear 
yearly  rent  of  ten  shillings  afid  sixpence  .  ...  at  the 
several  times  hereinbefore  appointed  for  the  paymmt  thereof 
respectively.  ^ntJ  alga  shall  and  at  all  times  during  the 
said  term  well  and  sufficiently  repair  and  keep  the  said 
Cottage  or  Dwelling-house  and  all  other  the  premises  and 
all  houses  or  buildings  erected  or  to  be  erected  thereupon 
in  good  and  proper  repair  in  every  respect  without  excep- 
tion and  the  said  premises  in  such  good  repair  upon  the 
determination  of  this  demise  shall  yield  up  unto  the  said 
Gerald  Fellcourt  Aldclyffe  his  heirs  afid  assigns.' 

They  closed  the  bureau  and  turned  towards  the  door 
of  the  church  without  speaking. 

Manston  also  had  come  forward  out  of  the  gloom. 
Notwithstanding  the  farmer's  own  troubles,  an  instinc- 
tive respect  and  generous  sense  of  sympathy  with  the 
steward  for  his  awful  loss  caused  the  old  man  to  step 
aside,  that  Manston  might  pass  out  without  speaking 
to  them  if  he  chose  to  do  so. 
219 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Who  is  he  ? '  whispered  Edward  to  his  father,  as 
Mansion  approached. 

'  Mr.  Mansion,  the  steward.'  ' 

Mansion  came  near,  and  passed  down  the  aisle  on 
the  side  of  the  younger  man.  Their  faces  came  almost 
close  together :  one  large  flame,  which  still  lingered 
upon  the  ruins  outside,  threw  long  dancing  shadows  of 
each  across  the  nave  till  they  bent  upwards  against  the 
aisle  wall,  and  also  illuminated  their  eyes,  as  each  met 
those  of  the  other.  Edward  had  learnt,  by  a  letter  from 
home,  of  the  steward's  passion  for  Cytherea,  and  his 
mysterious  repression  of  it,  afterwards  explained  by  his 
marriage.  That  marriage  was  now  nought.  Edward 
realized  the  man's  newly  acquired  freedom,  and  felt  an 
instinctive  enmity  towards  him — he  would  hardly  own 
to  himself  why.  The  steward,  too,  knew  Cylherea's  at- 
tachment to  Edward,  and  looked  keenly  and  inscrutably 
at  him. 

7.  One  to  Two  a.m. 

Mansion  went  homeward  alone,  his  heart  full  of 
strange  emotions.  Entering  the  house,  and  dismissing 
the  woman  to  her  own  home,  he  at  once  proceeded 
upstairs  to  his  bedroom. 

Reasoning  worldliness,  especially  when  allied  with 
sensuousness,  cannot  repress  on  some  extreme  occasions 
the  human  instinct  to  pour  out  the  soul  to  some  Being 
or  PersonaUly,  who  in  frigid  moments  is  dismissed  with 
the  title  of  Chance,  or  at  most  Law.  Mansion  was 
selfishly  and  inhumanly,  but  honestly  and  unutterably, 
thankful  for  the  recent  catastrophe.  Beside  his  bed, 
for  that  first  time  during  a  period  of  nearly  twenty  years, 
he  fell  down  upon  his  knees  in  a  passionate  outburst  of 
feeling. 

Many  minutes  passed  before  he  arose.  He  walked 
to  the  window,  and  then  seemed  to  remember  for  the 

220 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

first  time  that  some  action  on  his  part  was  necessary  in 
connection  with  the  sad  circumstance  of  the  night. 

Leaving  the  house  at  once,  he  went  to  the  scene  of 
the  fire,  arriving  there  in  time  to  hear  the  rector  making 
an  arrangement  with  a  certain  number  of  men  to  watch 
the  spot  till  morning.  The  ashes  were  still  red-hot  and 
flaming.  Manston  found  that  nothing  could  be  done 
towards  searching  them  at  that  hour  of  the  night.  He 
turned  homeward  again,  in  the  company  of  the  rector, 
who  had  considerately  persuaded  him  to  retire  from  the 
scene  for  a  while,  and  promised  that  as  soon  as  a  man 
could  Uve  amid  the  embers  of  the  Three  Tranters  Inn, 
they  should  be  carefully  searched  for  the  remains  of  his 
•unfortunate  wife. 

Manston  then  went  indoors,  to  wait  for  morning. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XI 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

FIVE  DA  YS 

I.  November  the  Twenty-Ninth 

1  HE  search  began  at  dawn,  but  a  quarter  past  nine 
o'clock  came  without  bringing  any  result.  Manston  ate 
a  little  breakfast,  and  crossed  the  hollow  of  the  park 
which  intervened  between  the  old  and  modern  manor- 
houses,  to  ask  for  an  interview  with  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

He  met  her  midway.  She  was  about  to  pay  him  a 
visit  of  condolence,  and  to  place  every  man  on  the 
estate  at  his  disposal,  that  the  search  for  any  relic  of 
his  dead  and  destroyed  wife  might  not  be  delayed  an 
instant. 

He  accompanied  her  back  to  the  house.  At  first 
they  conversed  as  if  the  death  of  the  poor  woman  was 
an  event  which  the  husband  must  of  necessity  deeply 
lament ;  and  when  all  under  this  head  that  social  form 
seemed  to  require  had  been  uttered,  they  spoke  of  the 
material  damage  done,  and  of  the  steps  which  had  better 
be  taken  to  remedy  it. 

It  was  not  till  both  were  shut  inside  her  private  room 
that  she  spoke  to  him  in  her  blunt  and  cynical  manner. 
A  certain  newness   of  bearing  in  him,  peculiar  to  the 

«23 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

present  morning,  had  hitherto  forbidden  her  this  tone : 
the  demeanour  of  the  subject  of  her  favouritism  had 
altered,  she  could  not  tell  in  what  way.  He  was  entirely 
a  changed  man, 

'  Are  you  really  sorry  for  your  poor  wife,  Mr. 
Manston  ?  '  she  said. 

'  Well,  I  am,'  he  answered  shortly. 

'  But  only  as  for  any  human  being  who  has  met  with 
a  violent  death  ?  ' 

He  confessed  it — '  For  she  was  not  a  good  woman,' 
he  added. 

'  I  should  be  sorry  to  say  such  a  thing  now  the  poor 
creature  is  dead,'  Miss  Aldclyffe  returned  reproachfully. 

'  Why  ?  '  he  asked.  '  Why  should  I  praise  her  if 
she  doesn't  deserve  it  ?  I  say  exactly  what  I  have 
often  admired  Sterne  for  saying  in  one  of  his  letters — 
that  neither  reason  nor  Scripture  asks  us  to  speak 
nothing  but  good  of  the  dead.  And  now,  madam,'  he 
continued,  after  a  short  interval  of  thought,  *  I  may, 
perhaps,  hope  that  you  will  assist  me,  or  rather  not 
thwart  me,  in  endeavouring  to  win  the  love  of  a  young 
lady  living  about  you,  one  in  whom  I  am  much  in- 
terested already.' 

'  Cytherea ! ' 

'Yes,  Cytherea.' 

'  You  have  been  loving  Cytherea  all  the  while  ? ' 

'  Yes.' 

Surprise  was  a  preface  to  much  agitation  in  her, 
which  caused  her  to  rise  from  her  seat,  and  pace  to  the 
side  of  the  room.  The  steward  quietly  looked  on  and 
added,  '  I  have  been  loving  and  still  love  her.' 

She  came  close  up  to  him,  wistfully  contemplating  his 
face,  one  hand  moving  indecisively  at  her  side. 

*  And  your  secret  marriage  was,   then,  the  true  and 
only  reason  for  that  backwardness  regarding  the  court- 
ship of  Cytherea,  which,  they  tell  me,  has  been  the  talk 
of  the  village;  not  your  indifference  to  her  attractions.' 
223 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Her  voice  had  a  tone  of  conviction  in  it,  as  well  as  of 
inquiry ;  but  none  of  jealousy. 

*  Yes,'  he  said ;  '  and  not  a  dishonourable  one. 
What  held  me  back  was  just  that  one  thing — a  sense 
of  morality  that  perhaps,  madam,  you  did  not  give  me 
credit  for.'  The  latter  words  were  spoken  with  a  mien 
and  tone  of  pride. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  preserved  silence. 

*  And  now,'  he  went  on,  '  I  may  as  well  say  a  word 
in  vindication  of  my  conduct  lately,  at  the  risk,  too,  of 
offending  you.  My  actual  motive  in  submitting  to  your 
order  that  I  should  send  for  my  late  wife,  and  live  with 
her,  was  not  the  mercenary  policy  of  wishing  to  retain 
an  office  which  brings  me  greater  comforts  than  any  I 
have  enjoyed  before,  but  this  unquenchable  passion  for 
Cytherea.  Though  I  saw  the  weakness,  folly,  and  even 
wickedness  of  it  continually,  it  still  forced  me  to  try 
to  continue  near  her,  even  as  the  husband  of  another 
woman.' 

He  waited  for  her  to  speak  :  she  did  not. 

*  There's  a  great  obstacle  to  my  making  any  way  in 
winning  Miss  Graye's  love,'  he  went  on. 

'  Yes,  Edward  Springrove,'  she  said  quietly.  '  I 
know  it,  I  did  once  want  to  see  them  married;  they 
have  had  a  slight  quarrel,  and  it  will  soon  be  made 
up  again,  unless — '  she  spoke  as  if  she  had  only  half 
attended  to  Mansion's  last  statement. 

*  He  is  already  engaged  to  be  married  to  somebody 
else,'  said  the  steward. 

'  Pooh ! '  said  she,  •  you  mean  to  his  cousin  at  Peak- 
hill  ;  that's  nothing  to  help  us ;  he's  now  come  home  to 
break  it  off.' 

'  He  must  not  break  it  off,*  said  Manston,  firmly  and 
calmly. 

His  tone  attracted  her,  startled  her.  Recovering 
herself,  she  said  haughtily,  '  Well,  that's  your  affair, 
not  mine.  Though  my  wish  has  been  to  see  her  your 
224 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

wife,  I  can't  do  anything  dishonourable  to  bring  about 

such  a  result.' 

'  But  it  must  be  made  your  affair,'  he  said  in  a  hard, 
steady  voice,  looking  into  her  eyes,  as  if  he  saw  there 
the  whole  panorama  of  her  past. 

One  of  the  most  difficult  things  to  portray  by  written 
words  is  that  peculiar  mixture  of  moods  expressed  in  a 
woman's  countenance  when,  after  having  been  sedulously 
engaged  in  estabUshing  another's  position,  she  suddenly 
suspects  him  of  undermining  her  own.  It  was  thus  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  looked  at  the  steward. 

'  You — know — something — of  me  ? '  she  faltered. 

'  I  know  all,'  he  said. 

'  Then  curse  that  wife  of  yours  !  She  wrote  and  said 
she  wouldn't  tell  you  1 '  she  burst  out.  '  Couldn't  she 
keep  her  word  for  a  day  ?  '  She  reflected  and  then  said, 
but  no  more  as  to  a  stranger,  *  I  will  not  yield.  I  have 
committed  no  crime.  I  yielded  to  her  threats  in  a 
moment  of  weakness,  though  I  felt  inclined  to  defy  hei 
at  the  time  :  it  was  chiefly  because  I  was  mystified  as 
to  how  she  got  to  know  of  it.  Pooh  !  I  will  put  up 
with  threats  no  more.  O,  can  you  threaten  me  ?  '  she 
added  softly,  as  if  she  had  for  the  moment  forgotten 
to  whom  she  had  been  speaking. 

'My  love  must  be  made  your  affiir,'  he  repeated, 
without  taking  his  eyes  from  her. 

An  agony,  which  Avas  not  the  agony  of  being  dis- 
covered in  a  secret,  obstructed  her  utterance  for  a  time. 
'  How  can  you  turn  upon  me  so  when  I  schemed  to  get 
you  here — schemed  that  you  might  win  her  till  I  found 
you  were  married.  O,  how  can  you !  O  !  .  .  .  O  ! ' 
She  wept;  and  the  weeping  of  such  a  nature  was  as 
harrowing  as  the  weeping  of  a  man. 

'  Your  getting  me  here  was  bad  policy  as  to  your 
secret — the  most  absurd  thing  in  the  world,'  he  said, 
not  heeding  her  distress.  '  I  knew  all,  except  the  iden- 
tity of  the  individual,  long  ago.  Directly  I  found  that 
225  p 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

my  coming  here  was  a  contrived  thing,  and  not  a  matter 
of  chance,  it  fixed  my  attention  upon  you  at  once.  All 
that  was  required  was  the  mere  spark  of  life,  to  make 
of  a  bundle  of  perceptions  an  organic  whole.' 

*  Policy,  how  can  you  talk  of  policy  ?  Think,  do 
think  !  And  how  can  you  threaten  me  when  you  know 
— you  know — that  I  would  befriend  you  readily  without 
a  threat !  ' 

*  Yes,  yes,  I  think  you  would,'  he  said  more  kindly ; 
'  but  your  indifference  for  so  many,  many  years  has 
made  me  doubt  it.' 

'  No,  not  indifference — 'twas  enforced  silence  :  my 
father  lived.' 

He  took  her  hand,  and  held  it  gently. 


*  Now  listen,'  he  said,  more  quietly  and  humanly, 
when  she  had  become  calmer  :  '  Springrove  must  marry 
the  woman  he's  engaged  to.  You  may  make  him,  but 
only  in  one  way.' 

'  Well :  but  don't  speak  sternly,  ^neas  !  ' 

'  Do  you  know  that  his  father  has  not  been  particu- 
larly thriving  for  the  last  two  or  three  years  ?  ' 

'  I  have  heard  something  of  it,  once  or  twice,  though 
his  rents  have  been  promptly  paid,  haven't  they  ? ' 

'  O  yes ;  and  do  you  know  the  terms  of  the  leases  of 
the  houses  which  are  burnt  ? '  he  said,  explaining  to  her 
that  by  those  terms  she  might  compel  him  even  to  re- 
build every  house.  *  The  case  is  the  clearest  case  of  fire 
by  negligence  that  I  have  ever  known,  in  addition  to 
that,'  he  continued. 

'  I  don't  want  them  rebuilt ;  you  know  it  was  in- 
tended by  my  father,  directly  they  fell  in,  to  clear  the 
site  for  a  new  entrance  to  the  park  ? ' 

'  Yes,  but  that  doesn't  affect  the  position,  which  is 
that  Farmer  Springrove  is  in  your  power  to  an  extent 
which  is  very  serious  for  him.* 
226 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  I  won't  do  it — 'tis  a  conspiracy.' 

'  Won't  you  for  me  ?  '  he  said  eagerly. 
Miss  Aldclyffe  changed  colour. 

*  I  don't  threaten  now,  I  implore,'  he  said. 
'Because    you    might    threaten    if   you    chose,'    she 

mournfully  answered.  '  But  why  be  so — when  your 
marriage  with  her  was  my  own  pet  idea  long  before  it 
was  yours  ?     What  must  I  do  ?  ' 

'  Scarcely  anything  :  simply  this.  When  I  have  seen 
old  Mr.  Springrove,  which  I  shall  do  in  a  day  or  two, 
and  told  him  that  he  will  be  expected  to  rebuild  the 
houses,  do  you  see  the  young  man.  See  him  yourself, 
in  order  that  the  proposals  made  may  not  appear  to  be 
anything  more  than  an  impulse  of  your  own.  You  or 
he  will  bring  up  the  subject  of  the  houses.  To  rebuild 
them  would  be  a  matter  of  at  least  six  hundred  pounds, 
and  he  will  almost  surely  say  that  we  are  hard  in  insist- 
ing upon  the  extreme  letter  of  the  leases.  Then  tell 
him  that  scarcely  can  you  yourself  think  of  compelling 
an  old  tenant  like  his  father  to  any  such  painful  extreme 
— there  shall  be  no  compulsion  to  build,  simply  a  sur- 
render of  the  leases.  Then  speak  feeUngly  of  his  cousin, 
as  a  woman  whom  you  respect  and  love,  and  whose 
secret  you  have  learnt  to  be  that  she  is  heart-sick  with 
hope  deferred.  Beg  him  to  marry  her,  his  betrothed 
and  your  friend,  as  some  return  for  your  consideration 
towards  his  father.  Don't  suggest  too  early  a  day  for 
their  marriage,  or  he  will  suspect  you  of  some  motive 
beyond  womanly  sympathy.  Coax  him  to  make  a 
promise  to  her  that  she  shall  be  his  wife  at  the  end  of 
a  twelvemonth,  and  get  him,  on  assenting  to  this,  to 
write  to  Cytherea,  entirely  renouncing  her.' 

'  She  has  already  asked  him  to  do  that.' 

*  So  much  the  better — and  telling  her,  too,  that  he 
is  about  to  fulfil  his  long-standing  promise  to  marry 
his  cousin.  If  you  think  it  worth  while,  you  may  say 
Cytherea  was  not  indisposed  to  think  of  me  before  she 

227 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

knew  I  was  married.  I  have  at  home  a  note  she  wrote 
me  the  first  evening  I  saw  her,  which  looks  rather  warm, 
and  which  I  could  show  you.  Trust  me,  he  will  give 
her  up.  When  he  is  married  to  Adelaide  Hinton, 
Cytherea  will  be  induced  to  marry  me — perhaps  before ; 
a  woman's  pride  is  soon  wounded.' 

'  And  hadn't  I  better  write  to  Mr.  Nyttleton,  and 
inquire  more  particularly  what's  the  law  upon  the 
houses  ? ' 

*  O  no,  there's  no  hurry  for  that.  We  know  well 
enough  how  the  case  stands — quite  well  enough  to  talk 
in  general  terms  about  it.  And  I  want  the  pressure  to 
be  put  upon  young  Springrove  before  he  goes  away  from 
home  again.' 

She  looked  at  him  furtively,  long,  and  sadly,  as  after 
speaking  he  became  lost  in  thought,  his  eyes  listlessly 
tracing  the  pattern  of  the  carpet.  '  Yes,  yes,  she  will 
be  mine,'  he  whispered,  careless  of  Cytherea  Aldclyffe's 
presence.     At  last  he  raised  his  eyes  inquiringly. 

'  I  will  do  my  best,  ^neas,'  she  answered. 

Talibus  incusat.  Manston  then  left  the  house,  and 
again  went  towards  the  blackened  ruins,  where  men 
were  still  raking  and  probing. 


2.    From   November   the  Twenty-Ninth  to 
December  the  Second 

The  smouldering  remnants  of  the  Three  Tranters 
Inn  seemed  to  promise  that,  even  when  the  searchers 
should  light  upon  the  remains  of  the  unfortunate  Mrs. 
Manston,  very  little  would  be  discoverable. 

Consisting  so  largely  of  the  charcoal  and  ashes  of 
hard  dry  oak  and  chestnut,  intermingled  with  thatch, 
the  interior  of  the  heap  was  one  glowing  mass  of  embers, 
which,  on  being  stirred  about,  emitted  sparks  and  flame 
long  after  it  was  dead  and  black  on  the  outside.  It  was 
228 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

persistently  hoped,  however,  that  some  traces  of  the 
body  would  survive  the  effect  of  the  hot  coals,  and  after 
a  search  pursued  uninterruptedly  for  thirty  hours,  under 
the  direction  of  Manston  himself,  enough  was  found  to 
set  at  rest  any  doubts  of  her  fate. 

The  melancholy  gleanings  consisted  of  her  watch, 
bunch  of  keys,  a  few  coins,  and  two  charred  and  black- 
ened bones. 

Two  days  later  the  official  inquiry  into  the  cause  of 
her  death  was  held  at  the  Rising  Sun  Inn,  before  Mr. 
Floy,  the  coroner,  and  a  jury  of  the  chief  inhabitants 
of  the  district.  The  little  tavern — the  only  remaining 
one  in  the  village — was  crowded  to  excess  by  the 
neighbouring  peasantry  as  well  as  their  richer  employers  : 
all  who  could  by  any  possibility  obtain  an  hour's  release 
from  their  duties  being  present  as  listeners. 

The  jury  viewed  the  sad  and  infinitesimal  remains, 
which  were  folded  in  a  white  cambric  cloth,  and  laid  in 
the  middle  of  a  well-finished  coffin  lined  with  white  silk 
(by  Manston's  order),  which  stood  in  an  adjoining  room, 
the  bulk  of  the  coffin  being  completely  filled  in  with 
carefully  arranged  flowers  and  evergreens  —  also  the 
steward's  own  doing. 

Abraham  Brown,  of  Hoxton,  London — an  old  white- 
headed  man,  without  the  ruddiness  which  makes  white 
hairs  so  pleasing — was  sworn,  and  deposed  that  he  kept 
a  lodging-house  at  an  address  he  named.  On  a  Saturday 
evening  less  than  a  month  before  the  fire,  a  lady  came 
to  him,  with  very  little  luggage,  and  took  the  front  room 
on  the  second  floor.  He  did  not  inquire  where  she 
came  from,  as  she  paid  a  week  in  advance,  but  she  gave 
her  name  as  Mrs.  Manston,  referring  him,  if  he  wished 
for  any  guarantee  of  her  respectability,  to  Mr.  Manston, 
Knapwater  Park.  Here  she  lived  for  three  weeks, 
rarely  going  out.  She  slept  away  from  her  lodgings 
one  night  during  the  time.  At  the  end  of  that  time, 
on  the  twenty-eighth  of  November,  she  left  his  house  in 

0  229 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

a  four-wheeled  cab,  about  twelve  o'clock  in  the  day, 
telling  the  driver  to  take  her  to  the  V/aterloo  Station. 
She  paid  all  her  lodging  expenses,  and  not  having  given 
notice  the  full  week  previous  to  her  going  away,  offered 
to  pay  for  the  next,  but  he  only  took  half  She  wore 
a  thick  black  veil,  and  grey  waterproof  cloak,  when  she 
left  him,  and  her  luggage  was  two  boxes,  one  of  plain 
deal,  with  black  japanned  clamps,  the  other  sewn  up 
in  canvas. 

Joseph  Chinney,  porter  at  the  Carriford  Road  Station, 
deposed  that  he  saw  Mrs.  Manston,  dressed  as  the  last 
witness  had  described,  get  out  of  a  second-class  carriage 
on  the  night  of  the  twenty-eighth.  She  stood  beside 
him  whilst  her  luggage  was  taken  from  the  van.  The 
luggage,  consisting  of  the  clamped  deal  box  and  another 
covered  with  canvas,  was  placed  in  the  cloak-room.  She 
seemed  at  a  loss  at  finding  nobody  there  to  meet  her. 
She  asked  him  for  some  person  to  accompany  her, 
and  carry  her  bag  to  Mr.  Manston's  house,  Knapwater 
Park.  He  was  just  off  duty  at  that  time,  and  offered 
to  go  himself  The  witness  here  repeated  the  conversa- 
tion he  had  had  with  Mrs.  Manston  during  their  walk, 
and  testified  to  having  left  her  at  the  door  of  the  Three 
Tranters  Inn,  Mr.  Manston's  house  being  closed. 

Next,  Farmer  Springrove  was  called.  A  murmur  of 
surprise  and  commiseration  passed  round  the  crowded 
room  when  he  stepped  forward. 

The  events  of  the  few  preceding  days  had  so  worked 
upon  his  nervously  thoughtful  nature  that  the  blue  orbits 
of  his  eyes,  and  the  mere  spot  of  scarlet  to  which  the 
ruddiness  of  his  cheeks  had  contracted,  seemed  the 
result  of  a  heavy  sickness.  A  perfect  silence  pervaded 
the  assembly  when  he  spoke. 

His  statement  was  that   he  received  Mrs.  Manston 

at  the  threshold,  and  asked  her   to  enter  the  parlour. 

She  would  not  do  so,  and  stood  in  the  passage  whilst 

the   maid   went   upstairs   to   see  that  the  room  was  in 

230 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

order.  The  maid  came  down  to  the  middle  landing 
of  the  staircase,  when  Mrs.  Manston  followed  her  up 
to  the  room.  He  did  not  speak  ten  words  with  her 
altogether. 

Afterwards,  whilst  he  was  standing  at  the  door  Hsten- 
ing  for  his  son  Edward's  return,  he  saw  her  light  extin- 
guished, having  first  caught  sight  of  her  shadow  moving 
about  the  room. 

The  Coroner :  '  Did  her  shadow  appear  to  be  that  of 
a  woman  undressing  ?  ' 

Springrove :  '  I  cannot  say,  as  I  didn't  take  particular 
.notice.  It  moved  backwards  and  forwards;  she  might 
have  been  undressing  or  merely  pacing  up  and  down 
the  room.' 

Mrs.  Fitler,  the  ostler's  wife,  and  chambermaid,  said 
that  she  preceded  Mrs.  Manston  into  the  room,  put 
down  the  candle,  and  went  out.  Mrs.  Manston  scarcely 
spoke  to  her,  except  to  ask  her  to  bring  a  little  brandy. 
Witness  went  and  fetched  it  from  the  bar,  brought  it 
up,  and  put  it  on  the  dressing-table. 

T/ie  Coroner:  '  Had  Mrs.  Manston  begun  to  undress 
when  you  came  back  ? ' 

'  No,  sir ;  she  was  sitting  on  the  bed,  with  everything 
on,  as  when  she  came  in.' 

'  Did  she  begin  to  undress  before  you  left  ?  ' 

'  Not  exactly  before  I  had  left ;  but  when  I  had  closed 
the  door,  and  was  on  the  landing,  I  heard  her  boot 
drop  on  the  floor,  as  it  does  sometimes  when  pulled 
off?' 

'  Had  her  face  appeared  worn  and  sleepy  ? ' 

*  I  cannot  say,  as  her  bonnet  and  veil  were  still  on 
when  I  left,  for  she  seemed  rather  shy  and  ashamed  to 
be  seen  at  the  Three  Tranters  at  all.' 

'  And  did  you  hear  or  see  any  more  of  her  ?  ' 

*  No  more,  sir.' 

Mrs.  Crickett,  temporary  servant   to   Mr.  Manston, 
said   that   in   accordance  with   Mr.   Mansion's  orders, 
231 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

everything  had  been  made  comfortable  in  the  house  for 
Mrs.  Manston's  expected  return  on  Monday  night.  Mr. 
Manston  told  her  that  himself  and  Mrs.  Manston  would 
be  home  late,  not  till  between  eleven  and  twelve  o'clock, 
and  that  supper  was  to  be  ready.  Not  expecting  Mrs. 
Manston  so  early,  she  had  gone  out  on  a  very  important 
errand  to  Mrs.  Leat  the  postmistress. 

Mr.  Manston  deposed  that  in  looking  down  the 
columns  of  Bradshaw  he  had  mistaken  the  time  of  the 
train's  arrival,  and  hence  was  not  at  the  station  when 
she  came.  The  broken  watch  produced  was  his  wife's 
— he  knew  it  by  a  scratch  on  the  inner  plate,  and  by 
other  signs.  The  bunch  of  keys  belonged  to  her  :  two 
of  them  fitted  the  locks  of  her  two  boxes. 

Mr.  Flooks,  agent  to  Lord  Claydonfield  at  Chettle- 
wood,  said  that  Mr.  Manston  had  pleaded  as  his  excuse 
for  leaving  him  rather  early  in  the  evening  after  their 
day's  business  had  been  settled,  that  he  was  going  to 
meet  his  wife  at  Carriford  Road  Station,  where  she  was 
coming  by  the  last  train  that  night. 

The  surgeon  said  that  the  remains  were  those  of  a 
human  being.  The  small  fragment  seemed  a  portion  of 
one  of  the  lumbar  vertebrae — the  other  the  head  of  the 
OS  femoris — but  they  were  both  so  far  gone  that  it  was 
impossible  to  say  definitely  whether  they  belonged  to 
the  body  of  a  male  or  female.  There  was  no  moral 
doubt  that  they  were  a  woman's.  He  did  not  believe 
that  death  resulted  from  burning  by  fire.  He  thought 
she  was  crushed  by  the  fall  of  the  west  gable,  which 
being  of  wood,  as  well  as  the  floor,  burnt  after  it  had 
fallen,  and  consumed  the  body  with  it. 

Two  or  three  additional  witnesses  gave  unimportant 
testimony. 

The  coroner  summed  up,  and  the  jury  without  hesi- 
tation found  that  the  deceased  Mrs.  Manston  came  by 
her  death  accidentally  through  the  burning  of  the  Three 
Tranters  Inn. 

232 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


3.  December  the  Second.     Afternoon 

When  Mr.  Springrove  came  from  the  door  of  the 
Rising  Sun  at  the  end  of  the  inquiry,  Manston  walked 
by  his  side  as  far  as  the  stile  to  the  park,  a  distance 
of  about  a  stone's-throw. 

'  Ah,  Mr.  Springrove,  this  is  a  sad  affair  for  every- 
body concerned.' 

*  Everybody,'  said  the  old  farmer,  with  deep  sadness, 
'  'tis  quite  a  misery  to  me.  I  hardly  know  how  I  shall 
live  through  each  day  as  it  breaks.  I  think  of  the  words, 
"  In  the  morning  thou  shalt  say,  Would  God  it  were 
even !  and  at  even  thou  shalt  say,  Would  God  it  were 
morning !  for  the  fear  of  thine  heart  wherewith  thou 
shalt  fear,  and  for  the  sight  of  thine  eyes  which  thou 
shalt  see."  '     His  voice  became  broken. 

'  Ah — true.  I  read  Deuteronomy  myself,'  said  Man- 
ston. 

'  But  my  loss  is  as  nothing  to  yours,'  the  farmer 
continued. 

'  Nothing ;  but  I  can  commiserate  you.  I  should 
be  worse  than  unfeeling  if  I  didn't,  although  my  own 
affliction  is  of  so  sad  and  solemn  a  kind.  Indeed  my 
own  loss  makes  me  more  keenly  alive  to  yours,  different 
in  nature  as  it  is.' 

'  What  sum  do  you  think  would  be  required  of  me 
to  put  the  houses  in  place  again  ? ' 

'  I  have  roughly  thought  six  or  seven  hundred 
pounds.' 

'  If  the  letter  of  the  law  is  to  be  acted  up  to,'  said 
the  old  man,  with  more  agitation  in  his  voice. 

'Yes,  exactly.' 

*  Do  you  know  enough  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  mind  to 
give  me  an  idea  of  how  she  means  to  treat  me  ?  ' 

'  Well,  I  am  afraid  I  must   tell   you  that  though  I 
know  very  little  of  her  mind  as  a  rule,  in  this  matter  I 
233 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

believe  she  will  be  rather  peremptory ;  she  might  share 
to  the  extent  of  a  sixth  or  an  eighth  perhaps,  in  considera- 
tion of  her  getting  new  lamps  for  old,  but  I  should  hardly 
think  more.' 

The  steward  stepped  upon  the  stile,  and  Mr.  Spring- 
rove  went  along  the  road  with  a  bowed  head  and  heavy 
footsteps  towards  his  niece's  cottage,  in  which,  rather 
against  the  wish  of  Edward,  they  had  temporarily  taken 
refuge. 

The  additional  weight  of  this  knowledge  soon  made 
itself  perceptible.  Though  indoors  with  Edward  or  Ade- 
laide nearly  the  whole  of  the  afternoon,  nothing  more 
than  monosyllabic  replies  could  be  drawn  from  him. 
Edward  continually  discovered  him  looking  fixedly  at  the 
wall  or  floor,  quite  unconscious  of  another's  presence. 
At  supper  he  ate  just  as  usual,  but  quite  mechanically, 
and  with  the  same  abstraction. 


4.  December  the  Third 

The  next  morning  he  was  in  no  better  spirits. 
Afternoon  came :  his  son  was  alarmed,  and  managed 
to  draw  from  him  an  account  of  the  conversation  with 
the  steward. 

'  Nonsense;  he  knows  nothing  about  it,'  said  Edward 
vehemently.  '  I'll  see  Miss  AldclyfFe  myself.  Now 
promise  me,  father,  that  you'll  not  beUeve  till  I  come 
back,  and  tell  you  to  believe  it,  that  Miss  Aldclyffe  will 
do  any  such  unjust  thing.' 

Edward  started  at  once  for  Knapwater  House.  He 
strode  rapidly  along  the  high-road,  till  he  reached  a 
wicket  where  a  footpath  allowed  of  a  short  cut  to  the 
mansion.  Here  he  leant  down  upon  the  bars  for  a  few 
minutes,  meditating  as  to  the  best  manner  of  opening 
his  speech,  and  surveying  the  scene  before  him  in  that 
absent  mood  which  takes  cognizance  of  little  things 
234 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

without  being  conscious  of  them  at  the  time,  though 
they  appear  in  the  eye  aften\'ards  as  vivid  impressions. 
It  was  a  yellow,  lustrous,  late  autumn  day,  one  of  those 
days  of  the  quarter  when  morning  and  evening  seem  to 
meet  together  without  the  intervention  of  a  noon.  The 
clear  yellow  sunlight  had  tempted  forth  Miss  Aldclyffe 
herself,  who  was  at  this  same  time  taking  a  walk  in  the 
direction  of  the  village.  As  Springrove  lingered  he 
heard  behind  the  plantation  a  woman's  dress  brushing 
along  amid  the  prickly  husks  and  leaves  which  had  fallen 
into  the  path  from  the  boughs  of  the  chestnut  trees. 
In  another  minute  she  stood  in  front  of  him.. 

He  answered  her  casual  greeting  respectfully,  and 
was  about  to  request  a  few  minutes'  conversation  with 
her,  when  she  directly  addressed  him  on  the  subject  of 
the  fire.  '  It  is  a  sad  misfortune  for  your  father,'  she 
said,  'and  I  hear  that  he  has  lately  let  his  insurances 
expire  ? ' 

'  He  has,  madam,  and  you  are  probably  aware  that 
either  by  the  general  terms  of  his  holding,  or  the  same 
coupled  with  the  origin  of  the  fire,  the  disaster  may  in- 
volve the  necessity  of  his  rebuilding  the  whole  row  of 
houses,  or  else  of  becoming  a  debtor  to  the  estate,  to 
the  extent  of  some  hundreds  of  pounds  ?  ' 

She  assented.  '  I  have  been  thinking  of  it,'  she 
went  on,  and  then  repeated  in  substance  the  words  put 
into  her  mouth  by  the  steward.  Some  disturbance  of 
thought  might  have  been  fancied  as  taking  place  in 
Springrove's  mind  during  her  statement,  but  before  she 
had  reached  the  end,  his  eyes  were  clear,  and  directed 
upon  her. 

'  I  don't  accept  your  conditions  of  release,'  he  said. 

*  They  are  not  conditions  exactly.' 

*  Well,  whatever  they  are  not,  they  are  very  uncalled- 
for  remarks.' 

'  Not  at  all — the  houses  have  been  burnt  by  your 
family's  negligence.' 

23s 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*I  don't  refer  to  the  houses — you  have  of  course 
the  best  of  all  rights  to  speak  of  that  matter ;  but  you, 
a  stranger  to  me  comparatively,  have  no  right  at  all  to 
volunteer  opinions  and  wishes  upon  a  very  delicate  sub- 
ject, which  concerns  no  living  beings  but  Miss  Graye, 
Miss  Hinton,  and  myself.' 

Miss  AldclyfTe,  like  a  good  many  others  in  her  posi- 
tion, had  plainly  not  reahzed  that  a  son  of  her  tenant 
and  inferior  could  have  become  an  educated  man,  who 
had  learnt  to  feel  his  individuality,  to  view  society  from 
a  Bohemian  standpoint,  far  outside  the  farming  grade  in 
Carriford  parish,  and  that  hence  he  had  all  a  developed 
man's  unorthodox  opinion  about  the  subordination  of 
classes.  And  fully  conscious  of  the  labyrinth  into  which 
he  had  wandered  between  his  wish  to  behave  honour- 
ably in  the  dilemma  of  his  engagement  to  his  cousin 
Adelaide  and  the  intensity  of  his  love  for  Cytherea, 
Springrove  was  additionally  sensitive  to  any  allusion  to 
the  case.  He  had  spoken  to  Miss  Aldclyffe  with  con- 
siderable warmth. 

And  Miss  Aldclyffe  was  not  a  woman  likely  to  be 
far  behind  any  second  person  in  warming  to  a  mood  of 
defiance.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were  prepared  to  put  up 
with  a  cold  refusal,  but  that  her  haughtiness  resented  a 
criticism  of  her  conduct  ending  in  a  rebuke.  By  this, 
Mansion's  discreditable  object,  which  had  been  made 
hers  by  compulsion  only,  was  now  adopted  by  choice. 
She  flung  herself  into  the  work. 

A  fiery  man  in  such  a  case  would  have  relinquished 
persuasion  and  tried  palpable  force.  A  fiery  woman 
added  unscrupulousness  and  evolved  daring  strategy; 
and  in  her  obstinacy,  and  to  sustain  herself  as  mistress, 
she  descended  to  an  action  the  meanness  of  which  haunted 
her  conscience  to  her  dying  hour. 

'  I  don't  quite  see,  Mr.  Springrove,'  she  said,  '  that 
I  am  altogether  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  a  stranger. 
I  have  known  your  family,  at  any  rate,  for  a  good  many 
236 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

years,  and  I  know  Miss  Graye  particularly  well,  and 
her  state  of  mind  with  regard  to  this  matter.' 

Perplexed  love  makes  us  credulous  and  curious  as 
old  women.  Edward  was  willing,  he  owned  it  to  him- 
self, to  get  at  Cytherea's  state  of  mind,  even  through  so 
dangerous  a  medium. 

*  A  letter  I  received  from  her,'  he  said,  with  assumed 
coldness,  '  tells  me  clearly  enough  what  Miss  Graye's 
mind  is.' 

'  You  think  she  still  loves  you  ?  O  yes,  of  course 
you  do — all  men  are  like  that.' 

'  I  have  reason  to.'  He  could  feign  no  further  than 
the  first  speech. 

<  I  should  be  interested  in  knowing  what  reason  ? ' 
she  said,  with  sarcastic  archness. 

Edward  felt  he  was  allowing  her  to  do,  in  fractional 
parts,  what  he  rebelled  against  when  regarding  it  as  a 
whole ;  but  the  fact  that  his  antagonist  had  the  presence 
of  a  queen,  and  features  only  in  the  early  evening  of 
their  beauty,  was  not  without  its  influence  upon  a  keenly 
conscious  man.  Her  bearing  had  charmed  him  into 
toleration,  as  Mary  Stuart's  charmed  the  indignant  Puri- 
tan visitors.     He  again  answered  her  honestly. 

*  The  best  of  reasons — the  tone  of  her  letter.' 
'  Pooh,  Mr.  Springrove  ! ' 

'Not  at  all.  Miss  Aldclyffe!  Miss  Graye  desired 
that  we  should  be  strangers  to  each  other  for  the  simple 
practical  reason  that  intimacy  could  only  make  wretched 
complications  worse,  not  from  lack  of  love — love  is  only 
suppressed.' 

*  Don't  you  know  yet,  that  in  thus  putting  aside  a 
man,  a  woman's  pity  for  the  pain  she  inflicts  gives  her  a 
kindness  of  tone  which  is  often  mistaken  for  suppressed 
love  ? '  said  Miss  Aldclyfie,  with  soft  insidiousness. 

This  was  a  translation  of  the  ambiguity  of  Cytherea's 
tone  which  he  had  certainly  never  thought  of;  and  he 
was  too  ingenuous  not  to  own  it. 
237 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  I  had  never  thought  of  it,'  he  said. 

*  And  don't  believe  it  ?  '  ' 

'  Not  unless  there  was  some  other  evidence  to 
support  the  view.' 

She  paused  a  minute  and  then  began  hesitatingly — 

'  My  intention  was — what  I  did  not  dream  of  owning 
to  you — my  intention  was  to  try  to  induce  you  to  fulfil 
your  promise  to  Miss  Hinton  not  solely  on  her  account 
and  yours  (though  partly).  I  love  Cytherea  Graye  with 
all  my  soul,  and  I  want  to  see  her  happy  even  more 
than  I  do  you.  I  did  not  mean  to  drag  her  name  into 
the  affair  at  all,  but  I  am  driven  to  say  that  she  wrote 
that  letter  of  dismissal  to  you — for  it  was  a  most  pro- 
nounced dismissal — not  on  account  of  your  engagement. 
She  is  old  enough  to  know  that  engagements  can  be 
broken  as  easily  as  they  can  be  made.  She  wrote  it 
because  she  loved  another  man;  very  suddenly,  and 
not  with  any  idea  or  hope  of  marrying  him,  but  none 
the  less  deeply.' 

'  Who  ? ' 

'  Mr.  Mansion.' 

'  Good  !     I  can't  listen  to  you  for  an  instant, 

madam ;  why,  she  hadn't  seen  him  ! ' 

'  She  had ;  he  came  here  the  day  before  she  wrote  to 
you ;  and  I  could  prove  to  you,  if  it  were  worth  while, 
that  on  that  day  she  went  voluntarily  to  his  house, 
though  not  artfully  or  blaniably;  stayed  for  two  hours 
playing  and  singing ;  that  no  sooner  did  she  leave  him 
than  she  went  straight  home,  and  wrote  the  letter  saying 
she  should  not  see  you  again,  entirely  because  she  had 
seen  him  and  fallen  desperately  in  love  with  him — a 
perfectly  natural  thing  for  a  young  girl  to  do,  consider- 
ing that  he's  the  handsomest  man  in  the  county.  Why 
else  should  she  not  have  written  to  you  before  ? ' 

'  Because  I  was  such  a — because  she  did  not  know 
of  the  connection  between  me  and  my  cousin  until 
then.' 

238 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  I  must  think  she  did.' 

'  On  what  ground  ?  ' 

'  On  the  strong  ground  of  my  having  told  her  so,  dis- 
tinctly, the  very  first  day  she  came  to  live  with  me.' 

'  Well,  what  do  you  seek  to  impress  upon  me  after 
all?  This — that  the  day  Miss  Graye  wrote  to  me, 
saying  it  was  better  that  we  should  part,  coincided  with 
the  day  she  had  seen  a  certain  man ' 

'  A  remarkably  handsome  and  talented  man.' 

'  Yes,  I  admit  that.' 

'  And  that  it  coincided  with  the  hour  just  subsequent 
to  her  seeing  him.' 

'  Yes,  just  when  she  had  seen  him.' 

*  And  been  to  his  house  alone  with  him.' 

*  It  is  nothing.' 

'  And  stayed  there  playing  and  singing  with  him.' 

'  Admit  that,  too,'  he  said ;  '  an  accident  might  have 
caused  it.' 

'  And  at  the  same  instant  that  she  wrote  your  dis- 
missal she  wrote  a  letter  referring  to  a  secret  appoint- 
ment with  him.' 

'  Never,  by  God,  madam  !  never ! ' 

'  What  do  you  say,  sir  ? ' 

'  Never.' 

She  sneered. 

'There's  no  accounting  for  beliefs,  and  the  whole 
history  is  a  very  trivial  matter;  but  I  am  resolved  to 
prove  that  a  lady's  word  is  truthful,  though  upon  a 
matter  which  concerns  neither  you  nor  herself.  You 
shall  learn  that  she  did  write  him  a  letter  concerning 
an  assignation — that  is,  if  Mr.  Manston  still  has  it,  and 
will  be  considerate  enough  to  lend  it  me.' 

'  But  besides,'  continued  Edward,  '  a  married  man  to 
do  what  would  cause  a  young  girl  to  write  a  note  of  the 
kind  you  mention  ! ' 

She  flushed  a  little. 

'  That  I  don't  know  anything  about,'  she  stammered. 

239 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  But  Cytherea  didn't,  of  course,  dream  any  more  than  I 
did,  or  others  in  the  parish,  that  he  was  married.' 

'  Of  course  she  didn't.' 

*  And  I  have  reason  to  beUeve  that  he  told  her  of 
the  fact  directly  afterwards,  that  she  might  not  compro- 
mise herself,  or  allow  him  to.  It  is  notorious  that  he 
struggled  honestly  and  hard  against  her  attractions,  and 
succeeded  in  hiding  his  feelings,  if  not  in  quenching 
them.' 

'  We'll  hope  that  he  did.' 

'  But  circumstances  are  changed  now.' 

'  Very  greatly  changed,'  he  murmured  abstractedly. 

'  You    must   remember,'  she  added  more  suasively, 

*  that  Miss  Graye  has   a  perfect  right  to  do  wliat  she 
likes  with  her  own — her  heart,  that  is  to  say.' 

Her  descent  from  irritation  was  caused  by  perceiving 
that  Edward's  faith  was  really  disturbed  by  her  strong 
assertions,  and  it  gratified  her. 

Edward's  thoughts  flew  to  his  father,  and  the  object 
of  his  interview  with  her.  Tongue-fencing  was  utterly 
distasteful  to  him. 

*  I  will  not  trouble  you  by  remaining  longer,  madam,' 
he  remarked,  gloomily ;  '  our  conversation  has  ended 
sadly  for  me.' 

'  Don't  think  so,'  she  said,  '  and  don't  be  mistaken. 
I  am  older  than  you  are,  many  years  older,  and  I  know 
many  things.' 

Full  of  miserable  doubt,  and  bitterly  regretting  that 
he  had  raised  his  father's  expectations  by  anticipations 
impossible  of  fulfilment,  Edward  slowly  went  his  way 
into  the  village,  and  approached  his  cousin's  house. 
The  farmer  was  at  the  door  looking  eagerly  for  him. 
He  had  been  waiting  there  for  more  than  half-an-hour. 
His  eye  kindled  quickly. 

'  Well,  Ted,  what  does  she  say  ? '  he  asked,  in  the  in- 
tensely sanguine  tones  which  fall  sadly  upon  a  listener's 
240 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

ear,  because,  antecedently,  they  raise  pictures  of  inevit- 
able disappointment  for  the  speaker,  in  some  direction 
or  another. 

*  Nothing  for  us  to  be  alarmed  at,'  said  Edward,  with 
a  forced  cheerfulness. 

'  But  must  we  rebuild  ? ' 

'  It  seems  we  must,  father.' 

The  old  man's  eyes  swept  the  horizon,  then  he 
turned  to  go  in,  without  making  another  observation. 
All  light  seemed  extinguished  in  him  again.  When 
Edward  went  in  he  found  his  father  with  the  bureau 
open,  unfolding  the  leases  with  a  shaking  hand,  folding 
them  up  again  without  reading  them,  then  putting  them 
in  their  niche  only  to  remove  them  again. 

Adelaide  was  in  the  room.  She  said  thoughtfully  to 
Edward,  as  she  watched  the  farmer — 

'  I  hope  it  won't  kill  poor  uncle,  Edward.  What 
should  we  do  if  anything  were  to  happen  to  him  ?  He 
is  the  only  near  relative  you  and  I  have  in  the  world.' 
It  was  perfectly  true,  and  somehow  Edward  felt  more 
bound  up  with  her  after  that  remark. 

She  continued :  *  And  he  was  only  saying  so  hope- 
fully the  day  before  the  fire,  that  he  wouldn't  for  the 
world  let  any  one  else  give  me  away  to  you  when  we  are 
married.' 

For  the  first  time  a  conscientious  doubt  arose  in 
Edward's  mind  as  to  the  justice  of  the  course  he  was 
pursuing  in  resolving  to  refuse  the  alternative  offered  by 
Miss  Aldclyffe.  Could  it  be  selfishness  as  well  as  inde- 
pendence ?  How  much  he  had  thought  of  his  own  heart, 
how  little  he  had  thought  of  his  father's  peace  of  mind  ! 

The  old  man  did  not  speak  again  till  supper-time, 
when  he  began  asking  his  son  an  endless  number  of 
hypothetical  questions  on  what  might  induce  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe to  listen  to  kinder  terms  ;  speaking  of  her  now 
not  as  an  unfair  woman,  but  as  a  Lachesis  or  Fate 
whose  course  it  behoved  nobody  to  condemn.     In  his 

9A.I  Q 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

earnestness  he  once  turned  his  eyes  on  Edward's  face  : 
their  expression  was  woful :  the  pupils  were  dilated  and 
strange  in  aspect. 

'  If  she  will  only  agree  to  that ! '  he  reiterated  for  the 
hundredth  time,  increasing  the  sadness  of  his  listeners. 

An  aristocratic  knocking  came  to  the  door,  and  Jane 
entered  with  a  letter,  addressed — 

'Mr.  Edward  Springrove,  Junior.' 

*  Charles  from  Knapwater  House  brought  it,'  she  said. 

'  Miss  Aldclyffe's  writing,'  said  Mr.  Springrove,  before 
Edward  had  recognized  it  himself.  *  Now  'tis  all  right ! 
she's  going  to  make  an  offer;  she  doesn't  want  the 
houses  there,  not  she ;  they  are  going  to  make  that  the 
way  into  the  park.' 

Edward  opened  the  seal  and  glanced  at  the  inside. 
He  said,  with  a  supreme  effort  of  self-command — 

'  It  is  only  directed  by  Miss  Aldclyffe,  and  refers 
to  nothing  connected  with  the  fire.  I  wonder  at  her 
taking  the  trouble  to  send  it  to-night.' 

His  father  looked  absently  at  him  and  turned  away 
again.  Shortly  afterwards  they  retired  for  the  night. 
Alone  in  his  bedroom  Edward  opened  and  read  what 
he  had  not  dared  to  refer  to  in  their  presence. 

The  envelope  contained  another  envelope  in  Cyth- 
erea's  handwriting,  addressed  to  '  —  Manston,  Esq.,  Old 
Manor  House.'  Inside  this  was  the  note  she  had  written 
to  the  steward  after  her  detention  in  his  house  by  the 
thunderstorm — 

'  Knapwater  House, 

September  20th. 

'  I  find  I  cannot  meet  you  at  seven  o'clock  by  the  waterfall  as 
I  promised.     The  emotion  I  felt  made  me  forgetful  of  realities. 

'C.  Grave.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  not  written  a  line,  and,  by  the 
unvarying    rule    observable    when    words    are    not    an 
242 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

absolute  necessity,  her  silence  seemed  ten  times  as 
convincing  as  any  expression  of  opinion  could  have 
been. 

He  then,  step  by  step,  recalled  all  the  conversation 
on  the  subject  of  Cytherea's  feelings  that  had  passed 
between  himself  and  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  afternoon, 
and  by  a  confusion  of  thought,  natural  enough  under 
the  trying  experience,  concluded  that  because  the  lady 
was  truthful  in  her  portraiture  of  effects,  she  must  neces- 
sarily be  right  in  her  assumption  of  causes.  That  is, 
he  was  convinced  that  Cytherea — the  hitherto-believed 
faithful  Cytherea — had,  at  any  rate,  looked  with  some- 
thing more  than  indifference  upon  the  extremely  hand- 
some face  and  form  of  Manston. 

Did  he  blame  her,  as  guilty  of  the  impropriety  of 
allowing  herself  to  love  the  newcomer  in  the  face  of  his  not 
being  free  to  return  her  love  ?  No ;  never  for  a  moment 
did  he  doubt  that  all  had  occurred  in  her  old,  innocent, 
impulsive  way;  that  her  heart  was  gone  before  she 
knew  it — before  she  knew  anything,  beyond  his  existence, 
of  the  man  to  whom  it  had  flown.  Perhaps  the  very 
note  enclosed  to  him  was  the  result  of  first  reflection, 
Manston  he  would  unhesitatingly  have  called  a  scoun- 
drel, but  for  one  strikingly  redeeming  fact.  It  had  been 
patent  to  the  whole  parish,  and  had  come  to  Edward's 
own  knowledge  by  that  indirect  channel,  that  Manston, 
as  a  married  man,  conscientiously  avoided  Cytherea  after 
those  first  few  days  of  his  arrival  during  which  her  irre- 
sistibly beautiful  and  fatal  glances  had  rested  upon  him 
— his  upon  her. 

Taking  from  his  coat  a  creased  and  pocket-worn 
envelope  containing  Cytherea's  letter  to  himself.  Spring- 
rove  opened  it  and  read  it  through.  He  was  upbraided 
therein,  and  he  was  dismissed.  It  bore  the  date  of  the 
letter  sent  to  Manston,  and  by  containing  within  it  the 
phrase,  '  All  the  day  long  I  have  been  thinking,'  afforded 
justifiable  ground  for  assuming  that  it  was  written  sub- 
243 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

sequently  to  the  other  (and  in  Edward's  sight  far  sweeter 
one)  to  the  steward. 

But  though  he  accused  her  of  fickleness,  he  would 
not  doubt  the  genuineness,  in  its  kind,  of  her  partiality 
for  him  at  Budmouth.  It  was  a  short  and  shallow  feel- 
ing— not  perfect  love : 

•  Love  is  not  love 
Which  alters  when  it  alteration  finds. ' 

But  it  was  not  flirtation ;  a  feeling  had  been  born  in 
her  and  had  died.  It  would  be  well  for  his  peace  of 
mind  if  his  love  for  her  could  flit  away  so  softly,  and 
leave  so  few  traces  behind. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  shown  herself  desperately  con- 
cerned in  the  whole  matter  by  the  alacrity  with  which 
she  had  obtained  the  letter  from  Manston,  and  her 
labours  to  induce  himself  to  marry  his  cousin.  Taken 
in  connection  with  her  apparent  interest  in,  if  not 
love  for,  Cytherea,  her  eagerness,  too,  could  only  be 
accounted  for  on  the  ground  that  Cytherea  indeed 
loved  the  steward. 


5.  December  the  Fourth 

Edward  passed  the  night  he  scarcely  knew  how,  toss- 
ing feverishly  from  side  to  side,  the  blood  throbbing  in 
his  temples,  and  singing  in  his  ears. 

Before  the  day  began  to  break  he  dressed  himself. 
On  going  out  upon  the  landing  he  found  his  father's 
bedroom  door  already  open.  Edward  concluded  that 
the  old  man  had  risen  softly,  as  was  his  wont,  and  gone 
out  into  the  fields  to  start  the  labourers. 

But  neither  of  the  outer  doors  was  unfastened.  He 
entered  the  front  room,  and  found  it  empty.  Then 
animated  by  a  new  idea,  he  went  round  to  the  little 
back  parlour,  in  which  the  few  wrecks  saved  from  the 
fire  were  deposited,  and  looked  in  at  the  door.  Here, 
244 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

near  the  window,  the  shutters  of  which  had  been  opened 
half  way,  he  saw  his  father  leaning  on  the  bureau,  his 
elbows  resting  on  the  flap,  his  body  nearly  doubled,  his 
hands  clasping  his  forehead.  Beside  him  were  ghostly- 
looking  square  folds  of  parchment — the  leases  of  the 
houses  destroyed. 

His  father  looked  up  when  Edward  entered,  and 
wearily  spoke  to  the  young  man  as  his  face  came  into 
the  faint  light. 

*  Edward,  why  did  you  get  up  so  early  ? ' 

*  I  was  uneasy,  and  could  not  sleep.' 

The  farmer  turned  again  to  the  leases  on  the  bureau, 
and  seemed  to  become  lost  in  reflection.  In  a  minute 
or  two,  without  lifting  his  eyes,  he  said — 

'  This  is  more  than  we  can  bear,  Ted — more  than 
we  can  bear!  Ted,  this  will  kill  me.  Not  the  loss 
only — the  sense  of  my  neglect  about  the  insurance  and 
everything.  Borrow  I  never  will.  'Tis  all  misery  now. 
God  help  us — all  misery  now ! ' 

Edward  did  not  answer,  continuing  to  look  fixedly  at 
the  dreary  daylight  outside. 

'  Ted,'  the  farmer  went  on,  '  this  upset  of  been  burnt 
out  o'  home  makes  me  very  nervous  and  doubtful  about 
everything.  There's  this  troubles  me  besides — our  liven 
here  with  your  cousin,  and  Alien  up  her  house.  It  must 
be  very  awkward  for  her.  But  she  says  she  doesn't 
mind.  Have  you  said  anything  to  her  lately  about  when 
you  are  going  to  marry  her  ? ' 

'  Nothing  at  all  lately.' 

*  Well,  perhaps  you  may  as  well,  now  we  are  so  mixed 
in  together.  You  know,  no  time  has  ever  been  men- 
tioned to  her  at  all,  first  or  last,  and  I  think  it  right 
that  now,  since  she  has  waited  so  patiently  and  so  long 
— you  are  almost  called  upon  to  say  you  are  ready.  It 
would  simplify  matters  very  much,  if  you  were  to  walk 
up  to  church  wi'  her  one  of  these  mornings,  get  the 
thing  done,  and  go  on  liven  here  as  we  are.     If  you 

R  245 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

don't  I  must  get  a  house  all  the  sooner.  It  would 
lighten  my  mind,  too,  about  the  two  little  freeholds  over 
the  hill — not  a  morsel  a-piece,  divided  as  they  were  be- 
tween her  mother  and  me,  but  a  tidy  bit  tied  together 
again.     Just  think  about  it,  will  ye,  Ted  ?  * 

He  stopped  from  exhaustion  produced  by  the  intense 
concentration  of  his  mind  upon  the  weary  subject,  and 
looked  anxiously  at  his  son. 

'Yes,  I  will,'  said  Edward. 

'  But  I  am  going  to  see  her  of  the  Great  House  this 
morning,'  the  farmer  went  on,  his  thoughts  reverting  to 
the  old  subject.  '  I  must  know  the  rights  of  the  matter, 
the  when  and  the  where.  I  don't  like  seeing  her,  but 
I'd  rather  talk  to  her  than  the  steward.  I  wonder  what 
she'll  say  to  me.' 

The  younger  man  knew  exactly  what  she  would  say. 
If  his  father  asked  her  what  he  was  to  do,  and  when, 
she  would  simply  refer  him  to  Manston  :  her  character 
was  not  that  of  a  woman  who  shrank  from  a  proposition 
she  had  once  laid  down.  If  his  father  were  to  say  to 
her  that  his  son  had  at  last  resolved  to  marry  his 
cousin  within  the  year,  and  had  given  her  a  promise  to 
that  effect,  she  would  say,  '  Mr.  Springrove,  the  houses 
are  burnt :  we'll  let  them  go :  trouble  no  more  about 
them.' 

His  mind  was  already  made  up.  He  said  calmly, 
'  Father,  when  you  are  talking  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  mention 
to  her  that  I  have  asked  Adelaide  if  she  is  willing  to 
marry  me  next  Christmas.  She  is  interested  in  my 
union  with  Adelaide,  and  the  news  will  be  welcome  to 
her.' 

'  And  yet  she  can  be  iron  with  reference  to  me  and 
her  property,'  the  farmer  murmured.  '  Very  well,  Ted, 
I'll  tell  her.' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


6.  December  the  Fifth 


Of  the  many  contradictory  particulars  constituting  a 
woman's  heart,  two  had  shown  their  vigorous  contrast 
in  Cytherea's  bosom  just  at  this  time. 

It  was  a  dark  morning,  the  morning  after  old  Mr. 
Springrove's  visit  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  which  had  termi- 
nated as  Edward  had  intended.  Having  risen  an  hour 
earlier  than  was  usual  with  her,  Cytherea  sat  at  the 
window  of  an  elegant  little  sitting-room  on  the  ground 
floor,  which  had  been  appropriated  to  her  by  the  kind- 
ness or  whim  of  Miss  Aldclyffe,  that  she  might  not  be 
driven  into  that  lady's  presence  against  her  will.  She 
leant  with  her  face  on  her  hand,  looking  out  into  the 
gloomy  grey  air.  A  yellow  gUmmer  from  the  flapping 
flame  of  the  newly-lit  fire  fluttered  on  one  side  of  her 
face  and  neck  like  a  butterfly  about  to  settle  there,  con- 
trasting warmly  with  the  other  side  of  the  same  fair  face, 
which  received  from  the  window  the  faint  cold  morning 
light,  so  weak  that  her  shadow  from  the  fire  had  a  dis- 
tinct outline  on  the  \\andow-shutter  in  spite  of  it.  There 
the  shadow  danced  like  a  demon,  blue  and  grim. 

The  contradiction  alluded  to  was  that  in  spite  of  the 
decisive  mood  which  two  months  earlier  in  the  year 
had  caused  her  to  write  a  peremptory  and  final  letter 
to  Edward,  she  was  now  hoping  for  some  answer  other 
than  the  only  possible  one  a  man  who,  as  she  held,  did 
not  love  her  wildly,  could  send  to  such  a  communication. 
For  a  lover  who  did  love  wildly,  she  had  left  one  little 
loophole  in  her  otherwise  straightforward  epistle.  Why 
she  expected  the  letter  on  some  morning  of  this  par- 
ticular week  was,  that  hearing  of  his  return  to  Carriford, 
she  fondly  assumed  that  he  meant  to  ask  for  an  inter- 
view before  he  left.  Hence  it  was,  too,  that  for  the  last 
few  days,  she  had  not  been  able  to  keep  in  bed  later 
than  the  time  of  the  postman's  arrival. 
247 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

The  clock  pointed  to  half-past  seven.  She  saw  the 
postman  emerge  from  beneath  the  bare. boughs  of  the 
park  trees,  come  through  the  wicket,  dive  through  the 
shrubbery,  reappear  on  the  lawn,  stalk  across  it  without 
reference  to  paths — as  country  postmen  do — and  come 
to  the  porch.  She  heard  him  fling  the  bag  down  on 
the  seat,  and  turn  away  towards  the  village,  without 
hindering  himself  for  a  single  pace. 

Then  the  butler  opened  the  door,  took  up  the  bag, 
brought  it  in,  and  carried  it  up  the  staircase  to 
place  it  on  the  slab  by  Miss  Aldclyffe's  dressing-room 
door.  The  whole  proceeding  had  been  depicted  by 
sounds. 

She  had  a  presentiment  that  her  letter  was  in  the 
bag  at  last.  She  thought  then  in  diminishing  pulsa- 
tions of  confidence,  '  He  asks  to  see  me !  Perhaps  he 
asks  to  see  me :  I  hope  he  asks  to  see  me.' 

A  quarter  to  eight:  Miss  Aldclyffe's  bell — rather 
earlier  than  usual.  '  She  must  have  heard  the  post-bag 
brought,'  said  the  maiden,  as,  tired  of  the  chilly  prospect 
outside,  she  turned  to  the  fire,  and  drew  imaginative 
pictures  of  her  future  therein. 

A  tap  came  to  the  door,  and  the  lady's-maid  entered. 
'  Miss  Aldclyfle  is  awake,'  she  said ;  '  and  she  asked  if 
you  were  moving  yet,  miss.' 

'  I'll  run  up  to  her,'  said  Cytherea,  and  flitted  off  with 
the  utterance  of  the  words.  '  Very  fortunate  this,'  she 
thought ;  '  I  shall  see  what  is  in  the  bag  this  morning 
all  the  sooner.' 

She  took  it  up  from  the  side  table,  went  into  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  bedroom,  pulled  up  the  blinds,  and  looked 
round  upon  the  lady  in  bed,  calculating  the  minutes 
that  must  elapse  before  she  looked  at  her  letters. 

'  Well,  darling,  how  are  you  ?  I  am  glad  you  have 
come  in  to  see  me,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  '  You  can 
unlock  the  bag  this  morning,  child  if  you  like,'  she  con- 
tinued, yawning  factitiously. 

248 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  Strange  ! '  Cytherea  thought ;  '  it  seems  as  if  she 
knew  there  was  Hkely  to  be  a  letter  for  me.' 

From  her  bed  Miss  Aldclyffe  watched  the  girl's  face 
as  she  tremblingly  opened  the  post-bag  and  found  there 
an  envelope  addressed  to  her  in  Edward's  handwriting ; 
one  he  had  written  the  day  before,  after  the  decision 
he  had  come  to  on  an  impartial,  and  on  that  account 
torturing,  surv'ey  of  his  own,  his  father's,  his  cousin  Ade- 
laide's, and  what  he  believed  to  be  Cytherea's,  position. 

'i^e  haughty  mistress's  soul  sickened  remorsefully 
within  her  when  she  saw  suddenly  appear  upon  the 
speaking  countenance  of  the  young  lady  before  her  a 
wan  desolate  look  of  agony. 

The  master-sentences  of  Edward's  letter  were  these : 
'  You  speak  truly.  That  we  never  meet  again  is  the 
wisest  and  only  proper  course.  That  I  regret  the  past 
as  much  as  you  do  yourself,  it  is  hardly  necessary  for 
me  to  say.' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


XII 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

TEN  MONTHS 

I.  December  to  April 

Week  after  weeky  month  after  month,  the  time  had 
flown  by.  Christmas  had  passed ;  dreary  winter  with 
dark  evenings  had  given  place  to  more  dreary  winter 
with  hght  evenings.  Thaws  had  ended  in  rain,  rain  in 
wind,  wind  in  dust.  Showery  days  had  come — tlie 
period  of  pink  dawns  and  white  sunsets ;  with  the  third 
week  in  April  the  cuckoo  had  appeared ;  with  the  fourth, 
the  nightingale. 

Edward  Springrove  was  in  London,  attending  to  the 
duties  of  his  new  office,  and  it  had  become  known 
throughout  the  neighbourhood  of  Carriford  that  the 
engagement  between  himself  and  Miss  Adelaide  Hinton 
would  terminate  in  marriage  at  the  end  of  the  year. 

The  only  occasion  on  which  her  lover  of  the  idle 
delicious  days  at  Budmouth  watering-place  had  been 
seen  by  Cytherea  after  the  time  of  the  decisive  corre- 
spondence, was  once  in  church,  when  he  sat  in  front  of 
her,  and  beside  Miss  Hinton. 

The  rencounter  was  quite  an  accident.  Springrove 
had  come  there  in  the  full  belief  that  Cytherea  was 
250 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

away  from  home  with  Miss  Aldclyffe ;  and  he  continued 
ignorant  of  her  presence  throughout  the  service. 

It  is  at  such  moments  as  these,  when  a  sensitive 
nature  writhes  under  the  conception  that  its  most 
cherished  emotions  have  been  treated  with  contumely, 
that  the  sphere-descended  Maid,  Music,  friend  of  Plea- 
sure at  other  times,  becomes  a  positive  enemy — racking, 
bewildering,  unrelenting.  The  congregation  sang  the 
first  Psalm  and  came  to  the  verse — 

'  Like  some  fair  tree  which,  fed  by  streams, 
With  timely  fruit  doth  bend. 
He  still  shall  flourish,  and  success 
All  his  designs  attend.' 

Cytherea's  lips  did  not  move,  nor  did  any  sound 
escape  her ;  but  could  she  help  singing  the  words  in 
the  depths  of  her  being,  although  the  man  to  whom  she 
applied  them  sat  at  her  rival's  side  ? 

Perhaps  the  moral  compensation  for  all  a  woman's 
petty  cleverness  under  thriving  conditions  is  the  real 
nobility  that  lies  in  her  extreme  foolishness  at  these 
other  times ;  her  sheer  inability  to  be  simply  just,  her 
exercise  of  an  illogicjil  power  entirely  denied  to  men  in 
general — the  power  not  only  of  kissing,  but  of  delight- 
ing to  kiss  the  rod  by  a  punctilious  observance  of  the 
self-immolating  doctrines  in  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 

As  for  Edward — a  little  like  other  men  of  his 
temperament,  to  whom,  it  is  somewhat  humiliating  to 
think,  the  aberrancy  of  a  given  love  is  in  itself  a  re- 
commendation— his  sentiment,  as  he  looked  over  his 
cousin's  book,  was  of  a  lower  rank,  Horatian  rather 
than  Psalmodic — 

'  O,  what  hast  thou  of  her,  of  her 
Whose  every  look  did  love  inspire ; 
Whose  every  breathing  fanned  my  fire 
And  stole  me  from  myself  away  ! ' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Then,  without  letting  him  see  her,  Cytherea  slipt  out 
of  church  early,  and  went  home,  the  tones  of  the  organ 
still  lingering  in  her  ears  as  she  tried  bravely  to  kill  a 
jealous  thought  that  would  nevertheless  live  :  *  My  nature 
is  one  capable  of  more,  far  more,  intense  feeling  than 
hers !  She  can't  appreciate  all  the  sides  of  him — she 
never  will !  He  is  more  tangible  to  me  even  now,  as  a 
thought,  than  his  presence  itself  is  to  her  I '  She  was 
less  noble  then. 

But  she  continually  repressed  her  misery  and  bitter- 
ness of  heart  till  the  effort  to  do  so  showed  signs  of 
lessening.  At  length  she  even  tried  to  hope  that  her 
lost  lover  and  her  rival  would  love  one  another  very 
dearly. 

The  scene  and  the  sentiment  dropped  into  the  past. 
Meanwhile,  Manston  continued  visibly  before  her.  He, 
though  quiet  and  subdued  in  his  bearing  for  a  long  time 
after  the  calamity  of  November,  had  not  simulated  a 
grief  that  he  did  not  feel.  At  first  his  loss  seemed  so 
to  absorb  him — though  as  a  startling  change  rather  than 
as  a  heavy  sorrow — that  he  paid  Cytherea  no  attention 
whatever.  His  conduct  was  uniformly  kind  and  respect- 
ful, but  little  more.  Then,  as  the  date  of  the  catas- 
trophe grew  remoter,  he  began  to  wear  a  different  aspect 
towards  her.  He  always  contrived  to  obliterate  by  his 
manner  all  recollection  on  her  side  that  she  was  com- 
paratively more  dependent  than  himself — making  much 
of  her  womanhood,  nothing  of  her  situation.  Prompt  to 
aid  her  whenever  occasion  offered,  and  full  of  delightful 
petits  soins  at  all  times,  he  was  not  officious.  In  this 
way  he  irresistibly  won  for  himself  a  position  as  her 
friend,  and  the  more  easily  in  that  he  allowed  not  the 
faintest  symptom  of  the  old  love  to  be  apparent. 

Matters  stood  thus  in  the  middle  of  the  spring, 
when  the  next  move  on  his  behalf  was  made  by  Miss 
Aldclyffe. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


2.  The  Third  of  May 

i 

She  led  Cytherea  to  a  summer-house  called  the  i 
Fane,  built  in  the  private  grounds  about  the  mansion 
in  the  form  of  a  Grecian  temple ;  it  overlooked  the 
lake,  the  island  on  it,  the  trees,  and  their  undisturbed 
reflection  in  the  smooth  still  water.  Here  the  old 
and  young  maid  halted ;  here  they  stood,  side  by  side, 
mentally  imbibing  the  scene. 

The  month  was  May — the  time,  morning.  Cuckoos, 
thrushes,  blackbirds,  and  sparrows  gave  forth  a  per- 
fect confusion  of  song  and  twitter.  The  road  was 
spotted  white  with  the  fallen  leaves  of  apple-blossoms, 
and  the  sparkUng  grey  dew  still  lingered  on  the  grass 
and  flowers.  Two  swans  floated  into  view  in  front 
of  the  women,  and  then  crossed  the  water  towards 
them. 

'  They  seem  to  come  to  us  without  any  will  of  theii 
own — quite  involuntarily — don't  they  ? '  said  Cytherea, 
looking  at  the  birds'  graceful  advance. 

*  Yes,  but  if  you  look  narrowly  you  can  see  their 
hips  just  beneath  the  water,  working  with  the  greatest 
energy.' 

'  I'd  rather  not  see  that,  it  spoils  the  idea  of  proud 
indifference  to  direction  which  we  associate  with  a 
swan.' 

'  It  does ;  well  have  "  involuntarily."  Ah,  now  this 
reminds  me  of  something.' 

'  Of  what  ? ' 

'  Of  a  human  being  who  involuntarily  comes  towards 
yourself.' 

Cytherea  looked  into  Miss  Aldclyffe's  face ;  her  eyes 
grew  round  as  circles,  and  Hnes  of  wonderment  came 
visibly  upon  her  countenance.  She  had  not  once  re- 
garded Manston  as  a  lover  since  his  wife's  sudden 
appearance  and  subsequent  death.  The  death  of  a 
253 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

wife,  and  such  a  death,  was  an  overwhelming  matter  in 
her  ideas  of  things. 

'  Is  it  a  man  or  woman  ? '  she  said,  quite  innocently. 

'  Mr.  Manston,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe  quietly. 

*  Mr.  Manston  attracted  by  me  now  ? '  said  Cytherea, 
standing  at  gaze. 

*  Didn't  you  know  it  ? ' 

'  Certainly  I  did  not.  Why,  his  poor  wife  has  only 
been  dead  six  months.' 

'  Of  course  he  knows  that.  But  loving  is  not  done  by 
months,  or  method,  or  rule,  or  nobody  would  ever  have 
invented  such  a  phrase  as  "  falling  in  love."  He  does 
not  want  his  love  to  be  observed  just  yet,  on  the  very 
account  you  mention ;  but  conceal  it  as  he  may  from 
himself  and  us,  it  exists  definitely — and  very  intensely, 
I  assure  you.' 

'  I  suppose  then,  that  if  he  can't  help  it,  it  is  no 
harm  of  him,'  said  Cytherea  naively,  and  beginning  to 
ponder. 

'  Of  course  it  isn't — you  know  that  well  enough. 
She  was  a  great  burden  and  trouble  to  him.  This  may 
become  a  great  good  to  you  both.' 

A  rush  of  feeling  at  remembering  that  the  same 
woman,  before  Mansion's  arrival,  had  just  as  frankly 
advocated  Edward's  claims,  checked  Cytherea's  utter- 
ance for  awhile. 

'  There,  don't  look  at  me  like  that,  for  Heaven's 
sake ! '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  '  You  could  almost  kill  a 
person  by  the  force  of  reproach  you  can  put  into  those 
eyes  of  yours,  I  verily  believe.' 

Edward  once  in  the  young  lady's  thoughts,  there 
was  no  getting  rid  of  him.     She  wanted  to  be  alone. 

'  Do  you  want  me  here  ?  '  she  said. 

*  Now  there,  there ;  you  want  to  be  off,  and  have  a 
good  cry,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  taking  her  hand.  *  But 
you  mustn't,  my  dear.  There's  nothing  in  the  past  for 
you   to   regret.      Compare    Mr.  Mansion's   honourable 

254 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

conduct  towards  his  wife  and  yourself,  with  Springrove 
towards  his  betrothed  and  yourself,  and  then  see  which 
appears  the  more  worthy  of  your  thoughts.' 


3.  From  the  Fourth  of  May  to  the  Twenty- 
First  OF  June 

The  next  stage  in  Manston's  advances  towards  her 
hand  was  a  clearly  defined  courtship.  She  was  sadly 
perplexed,  and  some  contrivance  was  necessary  on  his 
part  in  order  to  m.eet  with  her.  But  it  is  next  to  im- 
possible for  an  appreciative  woman  to  have  a  positive 
repugnance  towards  an  unusually  handsome  and  gifted 
man,  even  though  she  may  not  be  inclined  to  love  him. 
Hence  Cytherea  was  not  so  alarmed  at  the  sight  of  him 
as  to  render  a  meeting  and  conversation  with  her  more 
than  a  matter  of  difficulty. 

Coming  and  going  from  church  was  his  grand  op- 
portunity. Manston  was  very  religious  now.  It  is 
commonly  said  that  no  man  was  ever  converted  by 
argument,  but  there  is  a  single  one  which  will  make  any 
Laodicean  in  England,  let  him  be  once  love-sick,  wear 
prayer-books  and  become  a  zealous  Episcopalian — the 
argument  that  his  sweetheart  can  be  seen  from  his  pew. 

Manston  introduced  into  his  method  a  system  of 
bewitching  flattery,  everywhere  pervasive,  yet,  too,  so 
transitory  and  intangible,  that,  as  in  the  case  of  the 
poet  Wordsworth  and  the  Wandering  Voice,  though 
she  felt  it  present,  she  could  never  find  it.  As  a  foil  to 
heighten  its  effect,  he  occasionally  spoke  philosophically 
of  the  evanescence  of  female  beauty — the  worthlessness 
of  mere  appearance.  '  Handsome  is  that  handsome 
does '  he  considered  a  proverb  which  should  be  written 
on  the  looking-glass  of  every  woman  in  the  land.  '  Your 
form,  your  motions,  your  heart  have  won  me,'  he  said, 
in  a  tone  of  playful  sadness.  '  They  are  beautiful.  But 
25s 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

I  see  these  things,  and  it  comes  into  my  mind  that  they 
are  doomed,  they  are  gliding  to  nothing  as  I  look.  Poor 
eyes,  poor  mouth,  poor  face,  poor  maiden  !  "  Where 
will  her  glories  be  in  twenty  years  ?  "  I  say.  "  Where 
will  all  of  her  be  in  a  hundred  ?  "  Then  I  think  it  is 
cruel  that  you  should  bloom  a  day,  and  fade  for  ever 
and  ever.  It  seems  hard  and  sad  that  you  will  die  as 
ordinarily  as  I,  and  be  buried ;  be  food  for  roots  and 
worms,  be  forgotten  and  come  to  earth,  and  grow  up  a 
mere  blade  of  churchyard-grass  and  an  ivy  leaf.  Then, 
Miss  Graye,  when  I  see  you  are  a  Lovely  Nothing,  I 
pity  you,  and  the  love  I  feel  then  is  better  and  sounder, 
larger  and  more  lasting  than  that  I  felt  at  the  beginning.' 
Again  an  ardent  flash  of  his  handsome  eyes. 

It  was  by  this  route  that  he  ventured  on  an  indirect 
declaration  and  offer  of  his  hand. 

She  implied  in  the  same  indirect  manner  that  she 
did  not  love  him  enough  to  accept  it. 

An  actual  refusal  was  more  than  he  had  expected. 
Cursing  himself  for  what  he  called  his  egregious  folly  in 
making  himself  the  slave  of  a  mere  lady's  attendant,  and 
for  having  given  the  parish,  should  they  know  of  her 
refusal,  a  chance  of  sneering  at  him — certainly  a  ground 
for  thinking  less  of  his  standing  than  before — he  went 
home  to  the  Old  House,  and  walked  indecisively  up  and 
down  his  back-yard.  Turning  aside,  he  leant  his  arms 
upon  the  edge  of  the  rain-water-butt  standing  in  the 
corner,  and  looked  into  it.  The  reflection  from  the 
smooth  stagnant  surface  tinged  his  face  with  the  greenish 
shades  of  Correggio's  nudes.  Staves  of  sunlight  slanted 
down  through  the  still  pool,  lighting  it  up  with  wonder- 
ful distinctness.  Hundreds  of  thousands  of  minute 
living  creatures  sported  and  tumbled  in  its  depth  with 
every  contortion  that  gaiety  could  suggest ;  perfectly 
happy,  though  consisting  only  of  a  head,  or  a  tail,  or 
at  most  a  head  and  a  tail,  and  all  doomed  to  die  within 
the  twenty-four  hours. 

256 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Damn  my  position  !  Why  shouldn't  I  be  happy 
through  my  Httle  day  too  ?  Let  the  parish  sneer  at  my 
repulses,  let  it.  I'll  get  her,  if  I  move  heaven  and  earth 
to  do  it ! ' 

Indeed,  the  inexperienced  Cytherea  had,  towards 
Edward  in  the  first  place,  and  Manston  afterwards,  un- 
consciously adopted  bearings  that  would  have  been  the 
very  tactics  of  a  professional  fisher  of  men  who  wished 
to  have  them  each  successively  dangling  at  her  heels. 
For  if  any  rule  at  all  can  be  laid  down  in  a  matter 
which,  for  men  collectively,  is  notoriously  beyond  regu- 
lation, it  is  that  to  snub  a  petted  man,  and  to  pet  a 
snubbed  man,  is  the  way  to  win  in  suits  of  both  kinds. 
Manston  with  Springrove's  encouragement  would  have 
become  indifferent.  Edward  with  Manston's  repulses 
would  have  sheered  off  at  the  outset,  as  he  did  after- 
wards. Her  supreme  indifference  added  fuel  to  Man- 
ston's ardour — it  completely  disarmed  his  pride.  The 
invulnerable  Nobody  seemed  greater  to  him  than  a  sus- 
ceptible Princess. 


4.  From  the  Twenty-First  of  June  to  the 
End  of  July 

Cytherea  had  in  the  meantime  received  the  following 
letter  from  her  brother.  It  was  the  first  definite  notifi- 
cation of  the  enlargement  of  that  cloud  no  bigger  than 
a  man's  hand  which  had  for  nearly  a  twelvemonth  hung 
before  them  in  the  distance,  and  which  was  soon  to  give 
a  colour  to  their  whole  sky  from  horizon  to  horizon. 

'BuDMouTH  Regis, 
Saturday. 
*  Darling  Sis, — I  have  delayed  telling  you  for  a  long  time  of  a 
little  matter  which,  though  not  one  to  be  seriously  alarmed  about,  is 
sufficiently  vexing,  and  it  would  be  unfair  in  me  to  keep  it  from  you 
any  longer.    It  is  that  for  some  time  past  I  have  again  been  distressed 
257  R 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

by  that  lameness  which  I  first  distinctly  felt  when  we  went  to  Lulstead 
Cove,  and  again  when  I  left  Knapwater  that  morning  early.  It  is 
an  unusual  pain  in  my  left  leg,  between  the  knee  and  the  ankle.  I 
had  just  found  fresh  symptoms  of  it  when  you  were  here  for  that 
half-hour  about  a  month  ago — when  you  said  in  fun  that  I  began  to 
move  like  an  old  man.  I  had  a  good  mind  to  tell  you  then,  but 
fancying  it  would  go  off  in  a  few  days,  I  thought  it  was  not  worth 
while.  Since  that  time  it  has  increased,  but  I  am  still  able  to  work 
in  the  office,  sitting  on  the  stool.  My  great  fear  is  that  Mr.  G. 
will  have  some  out-door  measuring  work  for  me  to  do  soon,  and 
that  I  shall  be  obliged  to  decline  it.  However,  we  will  hope  for 
the  best.  How  it  came,  what  was  its  origin,  or  what  it  tends  to, 
I  cannot  think.  You  shall  hear  again  in  a  day  or  two,  if  it  is  no 
better.  .  •  . — Your  loving  brother,  Owen.' 

This  she  answered,  begging  to  know  the  worst,  which 
she  could  bear,  but  suspense  and  anxiety  never.  In 
two  days  came  another  letter  from  him,  of  which  the 
subjoined  paragraph  is  a  portion  : — 

•  I  had  quite  decided  to  let  you  know  the  worst,  and  to  assure 
you  that  it  was  the  worst,  before  you  wrote  to  ask  it.  And  again 
I  give  you  my  word  that  I  will  conceal  nothing— so  that  there  will 
be  no  excuse  whatever  for  your  wearing  yourself  out  with  fears 
that  I  am  worse  than  I  say.  This  morning  then,  for  the  first 
time,  I  have  been  obliged  to  stay  away  from  the  office.  Don't 
be  frightened  at  this,  dear  Cytherea.  Rest  is  all  that  is  wanted, 
and  by  nursing  myself  now  for  a  week,  I  may  avoid  an  illness  of 
six  months.' 

After  a  visit  from  her  he  wrote  again : — 

•Dr.  Chestman  has  seen  me.  He  said  that  the  ailment  was 
some  sort  of  rheumatism,  and  I  am  now  undergoing  proper  treat- 
ment for  its  cure.  My  leg  and  foot  have  been  placed  in  hot  bran, 
liniments  have  been  applied,  and  also  severe  friction  with  a  pad. 
He  says  I  shall  be  as  right  as  ever  in  a  very  short  time.  Directly 
I  am  I  shall  run  up  by  the  train  to  see  you.  Don't  trouble  to  come 
to  me  if  Miss  Aldclyffe  grumbles  again  about  your  being  away, 
for  I  am  going  on  capitally.  .  •  .  You  shall  hear  again  at  the 
end  of  the  week.' 

258 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 
At  the  time  mentioned  came  the  following : — 

*  I  am  sorry  to  tell  you,  because  I  know  it  will  be  so  disheartening 
after  my  last  letter,  that  I  am  not  so  well  as  I  was  then,  and  that 
there  has  been  a  sort  of  hitch  in  the  proceedings.  After  I  had  been 
treated  for  rheumatism  a  few  days  longer  (in  which  treatment  they 
pricked  the  place  with  a  long  needle  several  limes,)  I  saw  that  Dr. 
Chestman  was  in  doubt  about  something,  and  I  requested  that  he 
would  call  in  a  brother  professional  man  to  see  me  as  well.  They 
consulted  together  and  then  told  me  that  rheumatism  was  not  the 
disease  after  all,  but  erysipelas.  They  then  began  treating  it  dif- 
ferently, as  became  a  different  matter.  Blisters,  flour,  and  starch, 
seem  to  be  the  order  of  the  day  now — medicine,  of  course, 
besides. 

'  Mr.  Gradfield  has  been  in  to  inquire  about  me.  He  says  he 
has  been  obliged  to  get  a  designer  in  my  place,  which  grieves  me 
very  much,  though,  of  course,  it  could  not  be  avoided.' 

A  month  passed  away;  throughout  this  period, 
Cytherea  visited  him  as  often  as  the  limited  time  at 
her  command  would  allow,  and  wore  as  cheerful  a  coun- 
tenance as  the  womanly  determination  to  do  nothing 
which  might  depress  him  could  enable  her  to  wear. 
Another  letter  from  him  then  told  her  these  additional 
facts : — 

*  '  The  doctors  find  they  are  again  on  the  wrong  tack.  They  can- 
not make  out  what  the  disease  is.  O  Cytherea !  how  I  wish  they 
knew  I  This  suspense  is  wearing  me  out.  Could  not  Miss  Aldclyffe 
spare  you  for  a  day  ?  Do  come  to  me.  We  will  talk  about  the 
best  course  then.     I  am  sorry  to  complain,  but  I  am  worn  out." 

Cytherea  went  to  Miss  Aldclyffe,  and  told  her  of  the 
melancholy  turn  her  brother's  illness  had  taken.  Miss 
Aldclyffe  at  once  said  that  Cytherea  might  go,  and 
offered  to  do  anything  to  assist  her  which  lay  in  her 
power.  Cytherea's  eyes  beamed  gratitude  as  she  turned 
to  leave  the  room,  and  hasten  to  the  station. 

•  O,  Cytherea,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  calling  her  back  j 

259 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'just  one  word.      Has   Mr,   Mansion  spoken  to  you 
lately  ? ' 

*  Yes,'  said  Cytherea,  blushing  timorously. 

*  He  proposed  ?  ' 
'  Yes.' 

*  And  you  refused  him  ? ' 
'  Yes.' 

'  Tut,  tut !  Now  listen  to  my  advice,'  said  Miss 
Aldclyffe  emphatically,  '  and  accept  him  before  he 
changes  his  mind.  The  chance  which  he  offers  you  of 
settling  in  Ufe  is  one  that  may  possibly,  probably,  not 
occur  again.  His  position  is  good  and  secure,  and  the 
life  of  his  wife  would  be  a  happy  one.  You  may  not 
be  sure  that  you  love  him  madly;  but  suppose  you 
are  not  sure  ?  My  father  used  to  say  to  me  as  a  child 
when  he  was  teaching  me  whist,  "  When  in  doubt  win 
the  trick !  "  That  advice  is  ten  times  as  valuable  to  a 
woman  on  the  subject  of  matrimony.  In  refusing  a 
man  there  is  always  the  risk  that  you  may  never  get 
another  offer.' 

'  Why  didn't  you  win  the  trick  when  you  were  a 
girl  ? '  said  Cytherea. 

'  Come,  my  lady  Pert ;  I'm  not  the  text,'  said  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  her  face  glowing  like  fire. 

Cytherea  laughed  stealthily. 

'  I  was  about  to  say,'  resumed  Miss  Aldclyffe  severely, 
•  that  here  is  Mr.  Manston  waiting  with  the  tenderest 
solicitude  for  you,  and  you  overlooking  it,  as  if  it  were 
altogether  beneath  you.  Think  how  you  might  benefit 
your  sick  brother  if  you  were  Mrs.  Manston.  You  will 
please  me  very  much  by  giving  him  some  encouragement. 
You  understand  me,  Cythie  dear  ? ' 

Cytherea  was  silent. 

•And,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  still  more  emphatically, 
'  on  your  promising  that  you  will  accept  him  some  time 
this  year,  I  will  take  especial  care  of  your  brother.  You 
are  listening,  Cytherea  ? ' 

260 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Yes,'  she  whispered,  leaving  the  room. 

She  went  to  Budmouth,  passed  the  day  witVi  lier 
brother,  and  returned  to  Knapwater  wretched  and  full 
of  foreboding.  Owen  had  looked  startlingly  thin  and 
pale — thinner  and  paler  than  ever  she  had  seen  him 
before.  The  brother  and  sister  had  that  day  decided 
that  notwithstanding  the  drain  upon  their  slender  re- 
sources, another  surgeon  should  see  him.  Time  was 
everything. 

Owen  told  her  the  result  in  his  next  letter : — 

'  The  three  practitioners  between  them  have  at  last  hit  the  nail 
on  the  head,  I  hope.  They  probed  the  place,  and  discovered  that 
the  secret  lay  in  the  bone.  I  underwent  an  operation  for  its 
removal  three  days  ago  (after  taking  chloroform)  .  ,  .  Thank  God 
it  is  over.  Though  I  am  so  weak,  my  spirits  are  rather  better.  I 
wonder  when  I  shall  be  at  work  again  ?  I  asked  the  surgeons  how 
long  it  would  be  first.  I  said  a  month  ?  They  shook  their  heads. 
A  year  ?  I  said.  Not  so  long,  they  said.  Six  months  ?  I  inquired. 
They  would  not,  or  could  not,  tell  me.     But  never  mind. 

'  Run  down,  when  you  have  half  a  day  to  spare,  for  the  hours 
drag  on  so  drearily.     O  Cytherea,  you  can't  think  how  drearily  ! ' 

She  went.  Immediately  on  her  departure  Miss 
Aldclyffe  sent  a  note  to  the  Old  House,  to  Manston. 
On  the  maiden's  return,  tired  and  sick  at  heart  as  usual, 
she  found  Manston  at  the  station  awaiting  her.  He 
asked  politely  if  he  might  accompany  her  to  Knapwater. 
She  tacitly  acquiesced.  During  their  walk  he  inquired 
the  particulars  of  her  brother's  illness,  and  with  an 
irresistible  desire  to  pour  out  her  trouble  to  some  one, 
she  told  him  of  the  length  of  time  which  must  elapse 
before  he  could  be  strong  again,  and  of  the  lack  of 
comfort  in  lodgings. 

Manston  was  silent  awhile.  Then  he  said  impetu- 
ously :  '  Miss  Graye,  I  will  not  mince  matters — I  love 
you — you  know  it.  Stratagem  they  say  is  fair  in  love, 
and  I  am  compelled  to  adopt  it  now.     Forgive  me,  for 

s  261 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

I  cannot  help  it.  Consent  to  be  my  wife  at  any 
tinie  that  may  suit  you — any  remote  day  you  may 
name  will  satisfy  me — and  you  shall  find  him  well 
provided  for.' 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  she  truly  dreaded  the 
handsome  man  at  her  side  who  pleaded  thus  selfishly, 
and  shrank  from  the  hot  voluptuous  nature  of  his 
passion  for  her,  which,  disguise  it  as  he  might  under  a 
quiet  and  polished  exterior,  at  times  radiated  forth  with 
a  scorching  white  heat.  She  perceived  how  animal  was 
the  love  which  bargained. 

'  I  do  not  love  you,  Mr.  Manston,'  she  replied 
coldly. 


5.  From  the  First  to  the  Twenty-Seventh 
OF  August 

The  long  sunny  days  of  the  later  summer-time 
brought  only  the  same  dreary  accounts  from  Budmouth, 
and  saw  Cytherea  paying  the  same  sad  visits. 

She  grew  perceptibly  weaker,  in  body  and  mind. 
Manston  still  persisted  in  his  suit,  but  with  more  of  his 
former  indirectness,  now  that  he  saw  how  unexpectedly 
well  she  stood  an  open  attack.  His  was  the  system  of 
Dares  at  the  Sicilian  games — 

'  He,  like  a  captain  who  beleaguers  round 
Some  strong-built  castle  on  a  rising  ground, 
Views  all  the  approaches  with  observing  eyes, 
This  and  that  other  part  again  he  tries, 
And  more  on  industry  than  force  relies.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  made  it  appear  more  clearly  than  ever 
that  aid  to  Owen  from  herself  depended  entirely  upon 
Cytherea's  acceptance  of  her  steward.  Hemmed  in  and 
distressed,  Cytherea's  answers  to  his  importunities  grew 
Less  uniform;  they  were  firm,  or  wavering,  as  Owen's 
262 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

malady  fluctuated.  Had  a  register  of  her  pitiful  oscilla- 
tions been  kept,  it  would  have  rivalled  in  pathos  the 
diary  wherein  De  Quincey  tabulates  his  combat  with 
Opium — perhaps  as  noticeable  an  instance  as  any  in 
which  a  thrilling  dramatic  power  has  been  given  to  mere 
numerals.  Thus  she  wearily  and  monotonously  lived 
through  the  month,  listening  on  Sundays  to  the  well- 
known  round  of  chapters  narrating  the  history  of  Elijah 
and  Elisha  in  famine  and  drought ;  on  week-days  to 
buzzing  flies  in  hot  sunny  rooms.  *  So  like,  so  very 
like,  was  day  to  day.'  Extreme  lassitude  seemed  all 
that  the  world  could  show  her. 

Her  state  was  in  this  wise,  when  one  afternoon, 
having  been  with  her  brother,  she  met  the  surgeon,  and 
begged  him  to  tell  the  actual  truth  concerning  Owen's 
condition. 

The  reply  was  that  he  feared  that  the  first  operation 
had  not  been  thorough;  that  although  the  wound  had 
healed,  another  attempt  might  still  be  necessary,  unless 
nature  were  left  to  effect  her  own  cure.  But  the  time 
such  a  self-healing  proceeding  would  occupy  might  be 
ruinous. 

'  How  long  would  it  be  ? '  she  said. 

'  It  is  impossible  to  say.  A  year  or  two,  more  or 
less.' 

'And  suppose  he  submitted  to  another  artificial 
extraction  ? ' 

'  Then  he  might  be  well  in  four  or  six  months.' 

Now  the  remainder  of  his  and  her  possessions, 
together  with  a  sum  he  had  borrowed,  would  not 
provide  him  with  necessary  comforts  for  half  that  time. 
To  combat  the  misfortune,  there  were  two  courses  open 
— her  becoming  betrothed  to  Manston,  or  the  sending 
Owen  to  the  County  Hospital. 

Thus  terrified,  driven  into  a  corner,  panting  and 
fluttering  about  for  some  loophole  of  escape,  yet  still 
shrinking  from  the  idea  of  being  Manston's  wife,  the 
263 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

poor  little  bird  endeavoured  to  find  out  from  Miss 
Aldclyffe  whether  it  was  likely  Owen  would  be  well 
treated  in  the  hospital. 

'  County  Hospital ! '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe ;  '  why,  it  is 
only  another  name  for  slaughter-house — in  surgical  cases 
at  any  rate.  Certainly  if  anything  about  your  body  is 
snapt  in  two  they  do  join  you  together  in  a  fashion, 
but  'tis  so  askew  and  ugly,  that  you  may  as  well  be 
apart  again.'  Then  she  terrified  the  inquiring  and 
anxious  maiden  by  relating  horrid  stories  of  how  the 
legs  and  arms  of  poor  people  were  cut  off  at  a  moment's 
notice,  especially  in  cases  where  the  restorative  treat- 
ment was  likely  to  be  long  and  tedious. 

'  You  know  how  willing  I  am  to  help  you,  Cytherea,' 
she  added  reproachfully.  *  You  know  it.  Why  are 
you  so  obstinate  then  ?  Why  do  you  selfishly  bar  the 
clear,  honourable,  and  only  sisterly  path  which  leads 
out  of  this  difficulty?  I  cannot,  on  my  conscience, 
countenance  you ;  no,  I  cannot.' 

Manston  once  more  repeated  his  offer;  and  once 
more  she  refused,  but  this  time  weakly,  and  with  signs 
of  an  internal  struggle.  Manston's  eye  sparkled;  he 
saw  for  the  hundredth  time  in  his  life,  that  perseverance, 
if  only  systematic,  was  irresistible  by  womankind. 


6.  The  Twenty-Seventh  of  August 

On  going  to  Budmouth  three  days  later,  she  found 
to  her  surprise  that  the  steward  had  been  there,  had 
introduced  himself,  and  had  seen  her  brother.  A  few 
delicacies  had  been  brought  him  also  by  the  same  hand. 
Owen  spoke  in  warm  terms  of  Manston  and  his  free 
and  unceremonious  call,  as  he  could  not  have  refrained 
from  doing  of  any  person,  of  any  kind,  whose  presence 
had  served  to  help  away  the  tedious  hours  of  a  long 
day,  and  who  had,  moreover,  shown  that  sort  of  con- 
264. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

sideration  for  him  which  the  accompanying  basket 
implied — antecedent  consideration,  so  telling  upon  all 
invalids — and  which  he  so  seldom  experienced  except 
from  the  hands  of  his  sister. 

How  should  he  perceive,  amid  this  tithe-paying  of 
mint,  and  anise,  and  cummin,  the  weightier  matters 
which  were  left  undone  ? 

Again  the  steward  met  her  at  Carriford-Road  Station 
on  her  return  journey.  Instead  of  being  frigid  as  at  the 
former  meeting  at  the  same  place,  she  was  embarrassed 
by  a  strife  of  thought,  and  murmured  brokenly  her 
thanks  for  what  he  had  done.  The  same  request  that 
he  might  see  her  home  was  made. 

He  had  perceived  his  error  in  making  his  kindness 
to  Owen  a  conditional  kindness,  and  had  hastened  to 
efface  all  recollection  of  it.  '  Though  I  let  my  offer  on 
her  brother's — my  friend's — behalf,  seem  dependent  on 
my  lady's  graciousness  to  me,'  he  whispered  wooingly  in 
the  course  of  their  walk,  '  I  could  not  conscientiously 
adhere  to  my  statement ;  it  was  said  with  all  the  impul- 
sive selfishness  of  love.  Whether  you  choose  to  have 
me,  or  whether  you  don't,  I  love  you  too  devotedly  to  be 
anything  but  kind  to  your  brother.  .  .  .  Miss  Graye, 
Cytherea,  I  will  do  anything,'  he  continued  earnestly, '  to 
give  you  pleasure — indeed  I  will,' 

She  saw  on  the  one  hand  her  poor  and  much-loved 
Owen  recovering  from  his  illness  and  troubles  by  the 
disinterested  kindness  of  the  man  beside  her,  on  the 
other  she  drew  him  dying,  wholly  by  reason  of  her  self- 
enforced  poverty.  To  marry  this  man  was  obviously  the 
course  of  common  sense,  to  refuse  him  was  impolitic 
temerity.  There  was  reason  in  this.  But  there  was 
more  behind  than  a  hundred  reasons — a  woman's  grati- 
tude and  her  impulse  to  be  kind. 

The  wavering  of  her  mind  was  visible  in  her  tell-tale 
face.     He  noticed  it,  and  caught  at  the  opportunity. 

They  were  standing  by  the  ruinous  foundations  of  an 
265 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

old  mill  in  the  midst  of  a  meadow.  Between  grey  and 
half-overgrown  stonework — the  only  signs  of  masonry 
remaining — the  water  gurgled  down  from  the  old  mill- 
pond  to  a  lower  level,  under  the  cloak  of  rank  broad 
leaves — the  sensuous  natures  of  the  vegetable  world. 
On  the  right  hand  the  sun,  resting  on  the  horizon-line, 
streamed  across  the  ground  from  below  copper-coloured 
and  lilac  clouds,  stretched  out  in  flats  beneath  a  sky  of 
pale  soft  green.  All  dark  objects  on  the  earth  that  lay 
towards  the  sun  were  overspread  by  a  purple  haze, 
against  which  a  swarm  of  wailing  gnats  shone  forth 
luminously,  rising  upward  and  floating  away  like  sparks 
of  fire. 

The  stillness  oppressed  and  reduced  her  to  mere 
passivity.  The  only  wish  the  humidity  of  the  place  left 
in  her  was  to  stand  motionless.  The  helpless  flatness 
of  the  landscape  gave  her,  as  it  gives  all  such  tempera- 
ments, a  sense  of  bare  equality  with,  and  no  superiority 
to,  a  single  entity  under  the  sky. 

He  came  so  close  that  their  clothes  touched.  '  Will 
you  try  to  love  me  ?  Do  try  to  love  me ! '  he  said,  in  a 
whisper,  taking  her  hand.  He  had  never  taken  it  before. 
She  could  feel  his  hand  trembling  exceedingly  as  it  held 
hers  in  its  clasp. 

Considering  his  kindness  to  her  brother,  his  love  for 
herself,  and  Edward's  fickleness,  ought  she  to  forbid 
him  to  do  this  ?  How  truly  pitiful  it  was  to  feel  his 
hand  tremble  so — all  for  her !  Should  she  withdraw  her 
hand?  She  would  think  whether  she  would.  Think- 
ing, and  hesitating,  she  looked  as  far  as  the  autumnal 
haze  on  the  marshy  ground  would  allow  her  to  see  dis- 
tinctly. There  was  the  fragment  of  a  hedge — all  that 
remained  of  a  '  wet  old  garden  ' — standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  mead,  without  a  definite  beginning  or  ending,  pur- 
poseless and  valueless.  It  was  overgrown,  and  choked 
with  mandrakes,  and  she  could  almost  fkncy  she  heard 
their  shrieks.  .  .  .  Should  she  withdraw  her  hand  ? 
266 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

No,  she  could  not  withdraw  it  now ;  it  was  too  late,  the 
act  would  not  imply  refusal.  She  felt  as  one  in  a  boat 
without  oars,  drifting  with  closed  eyes  down  a  river — she 
knew  not  whither. 

He  gave  her  hand  a  gentle  pressure,  and  relin- 
quished it. 

Then  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  coming  to  the  point 
again.  No,  he  was  not  going  to  urge  his  suit  that 
evening.     Another  respite. 


7.  The  Early  Part  of  September 

Saturday  came,  and  she  went  on  some  trivial  errand 
to  the  village  post-office.  It  was  a  little  grey  cottage 
with  a  luxuriant  jasmine  encircling  the  doorway,  and 
before  going  in  Cytherea  paused  to  admire  this  pleasing 
feature  of  the  exterior.  Hearing  a  step  on  the  gravel 
behind  the  corner  of  the  house,  she  resigned  the  jasmine 
and  entered.  Nobody  was  in  the  room.  She  could 
hear  Mrs.  Leat,  the  widow  vvho  acted  as  postmistress, 
walking  about  over  her  head.  Cytherea  was  going  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs  to  call  Mrs.  Leat,  but  before  she 
had  accomplished  her  object,  another  form  stood  at  the 
half-open  door.     Manston  came  in. 

*  Both  on  the  same  errand,'  he  said  gracefully 

*  I  will  call  her,'  said  Cytherea,  moving  in  haste  to 
the  foot  of  the  stairs. 

'  One  moment.'  He  glided  to  her  side.  '  Don't 
call  her  for  a  moment,'  he  repeated. 

But  she  had  said,  '  Mrs.  Leat ! ' 

He  seized  Cytherea's  hand,  kissed  it  tenderly,  and 
carefully  replaced  it  by  her  side. 

She  had  that  morning  determined  to  check  his  further 
advances,  until  she  had  thoroughly  considered  her  posi- 
tion. The  remonstrance  was  now  on  her  tongue,  but  as 
accident  would  have  it,  before  the  word  could  be  spoken, 
267 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Mrs.  Leat  was  stepping  from  the  last  stair  to  the  floor, 
and  no  remonstrance  came. 

With  the  subtlety  which  characterized  him  in  all  his 
dealings  with  her,  he  quickly  concluded  his  own  errand, 
bade  her  a  good-bye,  in  the  tones  of  which  love  was  so 
garnished  with  pure  politeness  that  it  only  showed  its 
presence  to  herself,  and  left  the  house — putting  it  out 
of  her  power  to  refuse  him  her  companionship  home- 
ward, or  to  object  to  his  late  action  of  kissing  her 
hand. 

The  Friday  of  the  next  week  brought  another  letter 
from  her  brother.  In  this  he  informed  her  that,  in 
absolute  grief  lest  he  should  distress  her  unnecessarily, 
he  had  some  time  earlier  borrowed  a  few  pounds.  A 
week  ago,  he  said,  his  creditor  became  importunate,  but 
that  on  the  day  on  which  he  wrote,  the  creditor  had 
told  him  there  was  no  hurry  for  a  settlement,  that  '  his 
sister's  suitor  had  guaranteed  the  sum.'  '  Is  he  Mr. 
Manston  ?  tell  me,  Cytherea,'  said  Owen. 

He  also  mentioned  that  a  wheeled  chair  had  been 
anonymously  hired  for  his  especial  use,  though  as  yet  he 
was  hardly  far  enough  advanced  towards  convalescence 
to  avail  himself  of  the  luxury.  '  Is  this  Mr.  Manston's 
doing  ?  '  he  inquired. 

She  could  dally  with  her  perplexity,  evade  it,  trust  to 
time  for  guidance,  no  longer.  The  matter  had  come  to 
a  crisis :  she  must  once  and  for  all  choose  between  the 
dictates  of  her  understanding  and  those  of  her  heart. 
She  longed,  till  her  soul  seemed  nigh  to  bursting,  for 
her  lost  mother's  return  to  earth,  but  for  one  minute, 
that  she  might  have  tender  counsel  to  guide  her  through 
this,  her  great  difficulty. 

As  for  her  heart,  she  half  fancied  that  it  was  not 
Edward's  to  quite  the  extent  that  it  once  had  been ;  she 
thought  him  cruel  in  conducting  himself  towards  her  as 
he  did  at  Budmouth,  cruel  afterwards  in  making  so 
light  of  her.  She  knew  he  had  stifled  his  love  for  her 
268 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

— was  Utterly  lost  to  her.  But  for  all  that  she  could 
not  help  indulging  in  a  woman's  pleasure  of  recreating 
defunct  agonies,  and  lacerating  herself  with  them  now 
and  then. 

*  If  I  were  rich,'  she  thought,  '  I  would  give  way  to 
the  luxury  of  being  morbidly  faithful  to  him  for  ever 
without  his  knowledge.' 

But  she  considered;  in  the  first  place  she  was  a 
homeless  dependent;  and  what  did  practical  wisdom 
tell  her  to  do  under  such  desperate  circumstances  ?  To 
provide  herself  with  some  place  of  refuge  from  poverty, 
and  with  means  to  aid  her  brother  Owen.  This  was  to 
be  Mr.  Manston's  wife. 
She  did  not  love  him. 

But  what  was  love  without  a  home  ?  Misery.  What 
was  a  home  without  love  ?  Alas,  not  much ;  but  still 
a  kind  of  home. 

'Yes,'  she  thought,  'I  am  urged  by  my  common 
sense  to  marry  Mr.  Mansion.' 

Did  anything  nobler  in  her  say  so  too  ? 
With  the  death  (to  her)  of  Edward  her  heart's  occu- 
pation was  gone.     Was  it  necessary  or  even  right  for 
her  to  tend  it  and  take  care  of  it  as  she  used  to  in  the 
old  time,  when  it  was  still  a  capable  minister  ? 

By  a  slight  sacrifice  here  she  could  give  happiness  to 
at  least  two  hearts  whose  emotional  activities  were  still 
unwounded.  She  would  do  good  to  two  men  whose 
lives  were  far  more  important  than  hers, 

'  Yes,'  she  said  again,  '  even  Christianity  urges  me  to 
marry  Mr.  Manston.' 

Directly  Cytherea  had  persuaded  herself  that  a  kind 
of  heroic  self-abnegation  had  to  do  with  the  matter,  she 
became  much  more  content  in  the  consideration  of  it. 
A  wilful  indifference  to  the  future  was  what  really  pre- 
vailed in  her,  ill  and  worn  out,  as  she  was,  by  the 
perpetual  harassments  of  her  sad  fortune,  and  she 
regarded  this  indifference,  as  gushing  natures  will  do 
269 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

under  such  circumstances,  as  genuine  resignation  and 
devotedness. 

Mansion  met  her  again  the  following  day :  indeed, 
there  was  no  escaping  him  now.  At  the  end  of  a  short 
conversation  between  them,  which  took  place  in  the 
hollow  of  the  park  by  the  waterfall,  obscured  on  the 
outer  side  by  the  low  hanging  branches  of  the  limes,  she 
tacitly  assented  to  his  assumption  of  a  privilege  greater 
than  any  that  had  preceded  it.  He  stooped  and  kissed 
her  brow. 

Before  going  to  bed  she  wrote  to  Owen  explaining 
the  whole  matter.  It  was  too  late  in  the  evening  for  the 
postman's  visit,  and  she  placed  the  letter  on  the  mantel- 
piece to  send  it  the  next  day. 

The  morning  (Sunday)  brought  a  hurried  postscript 
to  Owen's  letter  of  the  day  before  : — 

*  September  g,  1865. 
'  Dear  Cytherea, — I  have  received  a  frank  and  friendly  letter 
from  Mr.  Mansion  explaining  the  position  in  which  he  stands  now, 
and  also  that  in  which  he  hopes  to  stand  towards  you.  Can't  you 
love  him  ?  Why  not  ?  Try,  for  he  is  a  good,  and  not  only  that, 
but  a  cultured  man.  Think  of  the  weary  and  laborious  future  that 
awaits  you  if  you  continue  for  life  in  your  present  position,  and  do 
you  see  any  way  of  escape  from  it  except  by  marriage  ?  I  don't. 
Don't  go  against  your  heart,  Cytherea,  but  be  wise. — Ever  affec- 
tionately yours,  Owen.' 

She  thought  that  probably  he  had  replied  to  Mr. 
Manston  in  the  same  favouring  mood.  She  had  a 
conviction  that  that  day  would  settle  her  doom.     Yet 

'  So  true  a  fool  is  love,' 

that  even  now  she  nourished  a  half-hope  that  something 
would  happen  at  the  last  moment  to  thwart  her  deliber- 
ately-formed intentions,  and  favour  the  old  emotion  she 
was  using  all  her  strength  to  thrust  down. 

270 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


8.  The  Tenth  of  September 

The  Sunday  was  the  thirteenth  after  Trinity,  and  the 
afternoon  service  at  Carriford  was  nearly  over.  The 
people  were  singing  the  Evening  Hymn. 

Manston  was  at  church  as  usual  in  his  accustomed 
place  two  seats  forward  from  the  large  square  pew 
occupied  by  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  Cytherea. 

The  ordinary  sadness  of  an  autumnal  evening-service 
seemed,  in  Cytherea's  eyes,  to  be  doubled  on  this  parti- 
cular occasion.  She  looked  at  all  the  people  as  they 
stood  and  sang,  waving  backwards  and  forwards  like  a 
forest  of  pines  swayed  by  a  gentle  breeze ;  then  at  the 
village  children  singing  too,  their  heads  inclined  to  one 
side,  their  eyes  hstlessly  tracing  some  crack  in  the  old 
walls,  or  following  the  movement  of  a  distant  bough  or 
bird  with  features  petrified  almost  to  painfulness.  Then 
she  looked  at  Manston ;  he  was  already  regarding  her 
with  some  purpose  in  his  glance. 

'  It  is  coming  this  evening,'  she  said  in  her  mind. 
A  minute  later,  at  the  end  of  the  hymn,  when  the  con- 
gregation began  to  move  out,  Manston  came  down  the 
aisle.  He  was  opposite  the  end  of  her  seat  as  she 
stepped  from  it,  the  remainder  of  their  progress  to  the 
door  being  in  contact  with  each  other.  Miss  Aldclyffe 
had  lingered  behind. 

'  Don't  let's  hurry,'  he  said,  when  Cytherea  was 
about  to  enter  the  private  path  to  the  House  as  usual. 
'  Would  you  mind  turning  down  this  way  for  a  minute 
till  Miss  Aldclyffe  has  passed  ? ' 

She  could  not  very  well  refuse  now.  They  turned 
into  a  secluded  path  on  their  left,  leading  round  through 
a  thicket  of  laurels  to  the  other  gate  of  the  church- 
yard, walking  very  slowly.  By  the  time  the  further  gate 
was  reached,  the  church  was  closed.  They  met  the 
sexton  with  the  keys  in  his  hand. 
271 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'We  are  going  inside  for  a  minute,'  said  Mansion  to 
him,  taking  the  keys  unceremoniously.  '  I  will  bring 
them  to  you  when  we  return.' 

The  sexton  nodded  his  assent,  and  Cytherea  and 
Manston  walked  into  the  porch,  and  up  the  nave. 

They  did  not  speak  a  word  during  their  progress,  or 
in  any  way  interfere  with  the  stillness  and  silence  that 
prevailed  everywhere  around  them.  Everything  in  the 
place  was  the  embodiment  of  decay  :  the  fading  red 
glare  from  the  setting  sun,  which  came  in  at  the  west 
window,  emphasizing  tht  end  of  the  day  and  all  its 
cheerful  doings,  the  mildewed  walls,  the  uneven  paving- 
stones,  the  wormy  pews,  the  sense  of  recent  occupation, 
and  the  dank  air  of  death  which  had  gathered  with  the 
evening,  would  have  made  grave  a  lighter  mood  than 
Cytherea's  was  then. 

'  What  sensations  does  the  place  impress  you  with  ? ' 
she  said  at  last,  very  sadly. 

'  I  feel  imperatively  called  upon  to  be  honest,  from 
very  despair  of  achieving  anything  by  stratagem  in  a 
world  where  the  materials  are  such  as  these.'  He,  too, 
spoke  in  a  depressed  voice,  purposely  or  otherwise. 

*  I  feel  as  if  I  were  almost  ashamed  to  be  seen  walk- 
ing such  a  world,'  she  murmured ;  '  that's  the  effect  it 
has  upon  me ;  but  it  does  not  induce  me  to  be  honest 
particularly.' 

He  took  her  hand  in  both  his,  and  looked  down 
upon  the  lids  of  her  eyes. 

*  I  pity  you  sometimes,'  he  said  more  emphatically. 

'  I  am  pitiable,  perhaps  ;  so  are  many  people.  Why 
do  you  pity  me  ?  ' 

'  I  think  that  you  make  yourself  needlessly  sad.' 

'  Not  needlessly.' 

'Yes,  needlessly.  Why  should  you  be  separated 
from  your  brother  so  much,  when  you  might  have  him 
to  stay  with  you  till  he  is  well  ? ' 

'  That  can't  be,'  she  said,  turning  away. 
372 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

He  went  on,  *  I  think  the  real  and  only  good  thing 
that  can  be  done  for  him  is  to  get  him  away  from  Bud- 
mouth  awhile ;  and  I  have  been  wondering  whether  it 
could  not  be  managed  for  him  to  come  to  my  house  to 
live  for  a  few  weeks.  Only  a  quarter  of  a  mile  from  you. 
How  pleasant  it  would  be ! ' 

'  It  would.' 

•  He  moved  himself  round  immediately  to  the  front 
of  her,  and  held  her  hand  more  firmly,  as  he  continued, 
'  Cytherea,  why  do  you  say  "  It  would,"  so  entirely  in 
the  tone  of  abstract  supposition  ?  I  want  him  there ; 
I  want  him  to  be  my  brother,  too.  Then  make  him 
so,  and  be  my  wife !  I  cannot  live  without  you. 
O  Cytherea,  my  darling,  my  love,  come  and  be  my 
wife ! ' 

His  face  bent  closer  and  closer  to  hers,  and  the  last 
words  sank  to  a  whisper  as  weak  as  the  emotion  inspir- 
ing it  was  strong. 

She  said  firmly  and  distinctly,  '  Yes,  I  will.' 

'  Next  month  ?  '  he  said  on  the  instant,  before  taking 
breath. 

'  No ;  not  next  month.' 

'  The  next  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  December  ?     Christmas  Day,  say  ?  ' 

'  I  don't  mind.' 

'  O,  you  darling  ! '  He  was  about  to  imprint  a  kiss 
upon  her  pale,  cold  mouth,  but  she  hastily  covered  it 
with  her  hand. 

'  Don't  kiss  me — at  least  where  we  are  now  ! '  she 
whispered  imploringly. 

'  Why  ? ' 

'  We  are  too  near  God.' 

He  gave  a  sudden  start,  and  his  face  flushed.  She 
had  spoken  so  emphatically  that  the  words  '  Near  God  ' 
echoed  back  again  through  the  hollow  building  from  the 
far  end  of  the  chancel. 

273  S 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  What  a  thing  to  say  ! '  he  exclaimed ;  *  surely  a  pure 
kiss  is  not  inappropriate  to  the  place ! ' 

*  No,'  she  replied,  with  a  swelling  heart ;  '  I  don't 
know  why  I  burst  out  so — I  can't  tell  what  has  come 
over  me  !     Will  you  forgive  me  ?  ' 

'  How  shall  I  say  "  Yes  "  without  judging  you  ?  How 
shall  I  say  "  No  "  without  losing  the  pleasure  of  saying 
"  Yes  ?  "  '     He  was  himself  again. 

<  I  don't  know,'  she  absently  murmured. 

'  I'll  say  "  Yes," '  he  answered  daintily.  *  It  is  sweeter 
to  fancy  we  are  forgiven,  than  to  think  we  have  not  sinned; 
and  you  shall  have  the  sweetness  without  the  need.' 

She  did  not  reply,  and  they  moved  away.  The  church 
was  nearly  dark  now,  and  melancholy  in  the  extreme. 
She  stood  beside  him  while  he  locked  the  door,  then 
took  the  arm  he  gave  her,  and  wound  her  way  out  of  the 
churchyard  with  him.  Then  they  walked  to  the  house 
together,  but  the  great  matter  having  been  set  at  rest, 
she  persisted  in  talking  only  on  indifferent  subjects. 

'  Christmas  Day,  then,'  he  said,  as  they  were  parting 
at  the  end  of  the  shrubbery. 

'  I  meant  Old  Christmas  Day,'  she  said  evasively. 

'  H'm,  people  do  not  usually  attach  that  meaning  to 
the  words.' 

*  No ;  but  I  should  like  it  best  if  it  could  not  be  till 
then  ? '  It  seemed  to  be  still  her  instinct  to  delay  the 
marriage  to  the  utmost. 

'  Very  well,  love,'  he  said  gently.  '  'Tis  a  fortnight 
longer  still ;  but  never  mind.     Old  Christmas  Day.' 


9.  The  Eleventh  of  September 

'  There.     It  will  be  on  a  Friday ! ' 

She  sat  upon  a  little  footstool  gazing  intently  into  the 
fire.     It  was  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  that  of 
the  steward's  successful  solicitation  of  her  hand. 
274 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  I  wonder  if  it  would  be  proper  in  me  to  run  across 
the  park  and  tell  him  it  is  a  Friday  ? '  she  said  to  herself, 
rising  to  her  feet,  looking  at  her  hat  lying  near,  and  then 
out  of  the  window  towards  the  Old  House.  Proper  or 
not,  she  felt  that  she  must  at  all  hazards  remove  the 
disagreeable,  though,  as  she  herself  owned,  unfounded 
impression  the  coincidence  had  occasioned.  She  left 
the  house  directly,  and  went  to  search  for  him. 

Manston  was  in  the  timber-yard,  looking  at  the 
sawyers  as  they  worked.  Cytherea  came  up  to  him 
hesitatingly.  Till  within  a  distance  of  a  few  yards  she 
had  hurried  forward  with  alacrity — now  that  the  practical 
expression  of  his  face  became  visible  she  wished  almost 
she  had  never  sought  him  on  such  an  errand  ;  in  his 
business-mood  he  was  perhaps  very  stern. 

'It  will  be  on  a  Friday,'  she  said  confusedly,  and 
without  any  preface. 

'  Come  this  way ! '  said  Manston,  in  the  tone  he  used 
for  workmen,  not  being  able  to  alter  at  an  instant's 
notice.  He  gave  her  his  arm  and  led  her  back  into 
the  avenue,  by  which  time  he  was  lover  again,  '  On  a 
Friday,  will  it,  dearest?  You  do  not  mind  Fridays, 
surely  ?     That's  nonsense.' 

'Not  seriously  mind  them,  exactly — but  if  it  could 
be  any  other  day  ? ' 

'  Well,  let  us  say  Old  Christmas  Eve,  then.  Shall  it 
be  Old  Christmas  Eve  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  Old  Christmas  Eve.' 

'  Your  word  is  solemn  and  irrevocable  now  ? ' 

'Certainly,  I  have  solemnly  pledged  my  word;  I 
should  not  have  promised  to  marry  you  if  I  had  not 
meant  it.  Don't  think  I  should.'  She  spoke  the  words 
with  a  dignified  impressiveness. 

'You  must  not  be  vexed  at  my  remark,  dearest. 
Can  you  think  the  worse  of  an  ardent  man,  Cytherea, 
for  showing  some  anxiety  in  love  ? ' 

*  No,    no.'      She   could    not    say    more.      She   was 
275 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

always  ill  at  ease  when  he  spoke  of  himself  as  a  piece 
of  human  nature  in  that  analytical  way,  and  wanted  to 
be  out  of  his  presence.  The  time  of  day,  and  the 
proximity  of  the  house,  afforded  her  a  means  of  escape. 
'  I  must  be  with  Miss  Aldclyffe  now — will  you  excuse 
my  hasty  coming  and  going  ? '  she  said  prettily.  Before 
he  had  replied  she  had  parted  from  him. 

'Cytherea,  was  it  Mr.  Manston  I  saw  you  scudding 
away  from  in  the  avenue  just  now  ?  '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe, 
when  Cytherea  joined  her. 

« Yes.' 

* "  Yes."  Come,  why  don't  you  say  more  than  that  ? 
I  hate  those  taciturn  "  Yesses "  of  yours.  I  tell  you 
everything,  and  yet  you  are  as  close  as  wax  with  me.' 

'  I  parted  from  him  because  I  wanted  to  come  in.' 

'  What  a  novel  and  important  announcement !  Well, 
is  the  day  fixed  ?  ' 

'Yes.' 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  face  kindled  into  intense  interest  at 
once.     '  Is  it  indeed  ?     When  is  it  to  be  ? ' 

'  On  Old  Christmas  Eve.' 

'  Old  Christmas  Eve.'  Miss  Aldclyffe  drew  Cytherea 
round  to  her  front,  and  took  a  hand  in  each  of  her  own. 
*  And  then  you  will  be  a  bride  ! '  she  said  slowly,  looking 
with  critical  thoughtfulness  upon  the  maiden's  delicately 
rounded  cheeks. 

The  normal  area  of  the  colour  upon  each  of  them 
decreased  perceptibly  after  that  slow  and  emphatic 
utterance  by  the  elder  lady. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  continued  impressively,  '  You  did  not 
say  "Old  Christmas  Eve"  as  ^fiancee  should  have  said 
the  words :  and  you  don't  receive  my  remark  with  the 
warm  excitement  that  foreshadows  a  bright  future.  .  .  . 
How  many  weeks  are  there  to  the  time  ? ' 

*  I  have  not  reckoned  them.' 

•  Not  ?  Fancy  a  girl  not  counting  the  weeks  !  I 
find  I  must  take  the  lead  in  this  matter — you  are  so 

276 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

childisli,  or  frightened,  or  stupid,  or  something,  about  it. 
Bring  me  my  diary,  and  we  will  count  them  at  once.' 

Cytherea  silently  fetched  the  book. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  opened  the  diary  at  the  page  con- 
taining the  almanac,  and  counted  sixteen  weeks,  which 
brought  her  to  the  thirty-first  of  December — a  Sunday. 
Cytherea  stood  by,  looking  on  as  if  she  had  no  appetite 
for  the  scene. 

'  Sixteen  to  the  thirty-first.  Then  let  me  see,  Monday 
will  be  the  first  of  January,  Tuesday  the  second,  Wednes- 
day third,  Thursday  fourth,  Friday  fifth  —  you  have 
chosen  a  Friday,  as  I  declare ! ' 

'  A  Thursday,  surely  ?  '  said  Cytherea. 

'  No  :  Old  Christmas  Day  comes  on  a  Saturday.' 

The  perturl)ed  little  l)rain  had  reckoned  wrong. 
*  Well,  it  must  be  a  Friday,'  she  murmured  in  a  reverie. 

'  No  :  have  it  altered,  of  course,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe 
cheerfully.  '  There's  nothing  bad  in  Friday,  but  such 
a  creature  as  you  will  be  thinking  about  its  being  un- 
lucky— in  fact,  I  wouldn't  choose  a  Friday  myself  to 
be  married  on,  since  all  the  other  days  are  equally 
available.' 

'  I  shall  not  have  it  altered,'  said  Cytherea  firmly ; 
•it  has  been  altered  once  already:  I  shall  let  it  be.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


xm 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

ONE  DAY 

I.  The  Fifth  of  January,     Before  Dawn 

\N  E  pass  over  the  intervening  weeks.  The  time  of  the 
story  is  thus  advanced  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  year. 

On  the  midnight  preceding  the  morning  which  would 
make  her  the  wife  of  a  man  whose  presence  fascinated 
her  into  involuntariness  of  bearing,  and  whom  in  absence 
she  almost  dreaded,  Cytherea  lay  in  her  little  bed,  vainly 
endeavouring  to  sleep. 

She  had  been  looking  back  amid  the  years  of  her 
short  though  varied  past,  and  thinking  of  the  threshold 
upon  which  she  stood.  Days  and  months  had  dimmed 
the  form  of  Edward  Springrove  like  the  gauzes  of  a 
vanishing  stage-scene,  but  his  dying  voice  could  still  be 
heard  faintly  behind.  That  a  soft  small  chord  in  her 
still  vibrated  true  to  his  memory,  she  would  not  admit : 
that  she  did  not  approach  Manston  with  feelings  which 
could  by  any  stretch  of  words  be  called  hymeneal,  she 
calmly  owned. 

'  Why  do  I  marry  him  ?  '  she  said  to  herself.  *  Be- 
cause Owen,  dear  Owen  my  brother,  wishes  me  to  marry 
him.  Because  Mr.  Manston  is,  and  has  been,  uniformly 
278 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

kind  to  Owen,  and  to  me.  "  Act  in  obedience  to  the 
dictates  of  common-sense,"  Owen  said,  "and  dread  the 
sharp  sting  of  poverty.  How  many  thousands  of  women 
like  you  marry  every  year  for  the  same  reason,  to  secure 
a  home,  and  mere  ordinary,  material  comforts,  which 
after  all  go  far  to  make  life  endurable,  even  if  not 
supremely  happy." 

'  'Tis  right,  I  suppose,  for  him  to  say  that.  O,  if 
people  only  knew  what  a  timidity  and  melancholy  upon 
the  subject  of  her  future  grows  up  in  the  heart  of  a 
friendless  woman  who  is  blown  about  like  a  reed  shaken 
with  the  wind,  as  I  am,  they  would  not  call  this  resigna- 
tion of  one's  self  by  the  name  of  scheming  to  get  a 
husband.  Scheme  to  marry  ?  I'd  rather  scheme  to 
die  !  I  know  I  am  not  pleasing  my  heart ;  I  know  that 
if  I  only  were  concerned,  I  should  like  risking  a  single 
future.  But  why  should  I  please  my  useless  self  over- 
much, when  by  doing  otherwise  I  please  those  who  are 
more  valuable  than  I  ?  ' 

In  the  midst  of  desultory  reflections  like  these,  which 
alternated  with  surmises  as  to  the  inexplicable  connec- 
tion that  appeared  to  exist  between  her  intended  husband 
and  Miss  Aldclyffe,  she  heard  dull  noises  outside  the 
walls  of  the  house,  which  she  could  not  quite  fancy  to 
be  caused  by  the  wind.  She  seemed  doomed  to  such 
disturbances  at  critical  periods  of  her  existence.  '  It  is 
strange,'  she  pondered,  '  that  this  my  last  night  in  Knap- 
water  House  should  be  disturbed  precisely  as  my  first 
was,  no  occurrence  of  the  kind  having  intervened.' 

As  the  minutes  glided  by  the  noise  increased,  sound- 
ing as  if  some  one  were  beating  the  wall  below  her 
window  with  a  bunch  of  switches.  She  would  gladly 
have  left  her  room  and  gone  to  stay  with  one  of  the 
maids,  but  they  were  without  doubt  all  asleep. 

The  only  person  in  the  house  likely  to  be  awake, 
or  who  would  have  brains  enough  to  comprehend  her 
nervousness,  was  Miss  Aldclyffe,  but  Cytherea  never 
279 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

cared  to  go  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  room,  though  she  was 
always  welcome  there,  and  was  often  almost  compelled 
to  go  against  her  will. 

The  oft-repeated  noise  of  switches  grew  heavier  upon 
the  wall,  and  was  now  intermingled  with  creaks,  and  a 
rattling  like  the  rattling  of  dice.  The  wind  blew 
stronger ;  there  came  first  a  snapping,  then  a  crash,  and 
some  portion  of  the  mystery  was  revealed.  It  was  the 
breaking  off  and  fall  of  a  branch  from  one  of  the  large 
trees  outside.  The  smacking  against  the  wall,  and  the 
intermediate  rattling,  ceased  from  that  time. 

Well,  it  was  the  tree  which  had  caused  the  noises. 
The  unexplained  matter  was  that  neither  of  the  trees 
ever  touched  the  walls  of  the  house  during  the  highest 
wind,  and  that  trees  could  not  rattle  like  a  man  playing 
castanets  or  shaking  dice. 

She  thought,  '  Is  it  the  intention  of  Fate  that  some- 
thing connected  with  these  noises  shall  influence  my 
future  as  in  the  last  case  of  the  kind  ?  ' 

During  the  dilemma  she  fell  into  a  troubled  sleep, 
and  dreamt  that  she  was  being  whipped  with  dry  bones 
suspended  on  strings,  which  rattled  at  every  blow  like 
those  of  a  malefactor  on  a  gibbet ;  that  she  shifted  and 
shrank  and  avoided  every  blow,  and  they  fell  then  upon 
the  wall  to  which  she  was  tied.  She  could  not  see  the 
face  of  tne  executioner  for  his  mask,  but  his  form  was 
like  Manston's. 

*  Thank  Heaven  ! '  she  said,  when  she  awoke  and 
saw  a  faint  light  struggling  through  her  blind.  '  Now 
what  were  those  noises  ? '  To  settle  that  question 
seemed  more  to  her  than  the  event  of  the  day. 

She  pulled  the  blind  aside  and  looked  out.  All 
was  plain.  The  evening  previous  had  closed  in  with  a 
grey  drizzle,  borne  upon  a  piercing  air  from  the  north, 
and  now  its  effects  were  visible.  The  hoary  drizzle  still 
continued ;  but  the  trees  and  shrubs  were  laden  with 
icicles  to  an  extent  such  as  she  had  never  before 
280 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

witnessed.  A  shoot  of  the  diameter  of  a  pin's  head 
was  iced  as  thick  as  her  finger;  all  the  boughs  in  the 
park  were  bent  almost  to  the  earth  with  the  immense 
weight  of  the  glistening  incumbrance;  the  walks  were 
like  a  looking-glass.  Many  boughs  had  snapped  be- 
neath their  burden,  and  lay  in  heaps  upon  the  icy  grass. 
Opposite  her  eye,  on  the  nearest  tree,  was  a  fresh  yellow 
scar,  showing  where  the  branch  that  had  terrified  her 
had  been  splintered  from  the  trunk. 

'  I  never  could  have  believed  it  possible,'  she 
thought,  surveying  the  bowed-down  branches,  '  that  trees 
would  bend  so  far  out  of  their  true  positions  without 
breaking.'  By  watching  a  twig  she  could  see  a  drop 
collect  upon  it  from  the  hoary  fog,  sink  to  the  lowest 
point,  and  there  become  coagulated  as  the  others  had 
done. 

'  Or  that  I  could  so  exactly  have  imitated  them,'  she 
continued.  '  On  this  morning  I  am  to  be  married — 
unless  this  is  a  scheme  of  the  great  Mother  to  hinder 
a  union  of  which  she  does  not  approve.  Is  it  possible 
for  my  wedding  to  take  place  in  the  face  of  such  weather 
as  this  ? ' 

2.  Morning 

Her  brother  Owen  was  staying  with  Manston  at  the 
Old  House.  Contrary  to  the  opinion  of  the  doctors, 
the  wound  had  healed  after  the  first  surgical  operation, 
and  his  leg  was  gradually  acquiring  strength,  though  he 
could  only  as  yet  get  about  on  crutches,  or  ride,  or  be 
dragged  in  a  chair. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  had  arranged  that  Cytherea  should 
be  married  from  Knapwater  House,  and  not  from  her 
brother's  lodgings  at  Budmoulh,  which  was  Cytherea's 
first  idea.  Owen,  too,  seemed  to  prefer  the  plan.  The 
capricious  old  maid  had  latterly  taken  to  the  contem- 
plation of  the  wedding  with  even  greater  warmth  than 
281 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

had  at  first  inspired  her,  and  appeared  determined  to 
do  everything  in  her  power,  consistent  with  her  dignity, 
to  render  the  adjuncts  of  the  ceremony  pleasing  and 
complete. 

But  the  weather  seemed  in  flat  contradiction  of  the 
whole  proceeding.  At  eight  o'clock  the  coachman  crept 
up  to  the  House  almost  upon  his  hands  and  knees, 
entered  the  kitchen,  and  stood  with  his  back  to  the  fire, 
panting  from  his  exertions  in  pedestrianism. 

The  kitchen  was  by  far  the  pleasantest  apartment 
in  Knapwater  House  on  such  a  morning  as  this.  The 
vast  fire  was  the  centre  of  the  whole  system,  like  a 
sun,  and  threw  its  warm  rays  upon  the  figures  of  the 
domestics,  wheeling  about  it  in  true  planetary  style.  A 
nervously-feeble  imitation  of  its  flicker  was  continually 
attempted  by  a  family  of  poUshed  metallic  utensils 
standing  in  rows  and  groups  against  the  walls  opposite, 
the  whole  collection  of  shines  nearly  annihilating  the 
weak  daylight  from  outside.  A  step  further  in,  and  the 
nostrils  were  greeted  by  the  scent  of  green  herbs  just 
gathered,  and  the  eye  by  the  plump  form  of  the  cook, 
wholesome,  white-aproned,  and  floury — looking  as  edible 
as  the  food  she  manipulated — her  movements  being 
supported  and  assisted  by  her  satellites,  the  kitchen  and 
scullery  maids.  Minute  recurrent  sounds  prevailed — 
the  click  of  the  smoke-jack,  the  flap  of  the  flames,  and 
the  light  touches  of  the  women's  slippers  upon  the 
stone  floor. 

The  coachman  hemmed,  spread  his  feet  more  firmly 
upon  the  hearthstone,  and  looked  hard  at  a  small  plate 
in  the  extreme  corner  of  the  dresser. 

'  No  wedden  this  mornen — that's  my  opinion.  In 
fact,  there  can't  be,'  he  said  abruptly,  as  if  the  words 
were  the  mere  torso  of  a  many-membered  thought  that 
had  existed  complete  in  his  head. 

The  kitchen-maid  was  toasting  a  slice  of  bread  at 
the  end  of  a  very  long  toasting-fork,  which  she  held  at 
282 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

arm's  length  towards  the  unapproachable  fire,  travestying 
the  Flanconnade  in  fencing. 

'  Bad  out  of  doors,  isn't  it  ? '  she  said,  with  a  look  of 
commiseration  for  things  in  general. 

'  Bad  ?  Not  even  a  liven  soul,  gentle  or  simple,  can 
stand  on  level  ground.  As  to  getten  up  hill  to  the 
church,  'tis  perfect  lunacy.  And  I  speak  of  foot- 
passengers.  As  to  horses  and  carriage,  'tis  murder  to 
think  of  'em.  I  am  going  to  send  straight  as  a  line 
into  the  breakfast-room,  and  say  'tis  a  closer.  .  .  . 
Hullo — here's  Clerk  Crickett  and  John  Day  a-comen  ! 
Now  just  look  at  'em  and  picture  a  wedden  if  you 
can.' 

All  eyes  were  turned  to  the  window,  from  which  the 
clerk  and  gardener  were  seen  crossing  the  court,  bowed 
and  stooping  like  Bel  and  Nebo. 

'  You'll  have  to  go  if  it  breaks  all  the  horses'  legs  in 
the  county,'  said  the  cook,  turning  from  the  spectacle, 
knocking  open  the  oven-door  with  the  tongs,  glancing 
critically  in,  and  slamming  it  together  with  a  clang. 

'0,0;  why  shall  I  ?  '  asked  the  coachman,  including 
in  his  auditory  by  a  glance  the  clerk  and  gardener  who 
had  just  entered. 

'  Because  Mr.  Mansion  is  in  the  business.  Did  you 
ever  know  him  to  give  up  for  weather  of  any  kind,  or 
for  any  other  mortal  thing  in  heaven  or  earth  ? ' 

' Mornen    so's — such    as    it    is  ! '    interrupted 

Mr.  Crickett  cheerily,  coming  forward  to  the  blaze  and 
warming  one  hand  without  looking  at  the  fire.  '  Mr. 
Manston  gie  up  for  anything  in  heaven  or  earth,  did 
you  say?  You  might  ha'  cut  it  short  by  sayen  "to 
Miss  Aldclyffe,"  and  leaven  out  heaven  and  earth  as 
trifles.  But  it  might  be  put  off;  putten  off  a  thing  isn't 
getten  rid  of  a  thing,  if  that  thing  is  a  woman.  O 
no,  no ! ' 

The  coachman  and  gardener  now  naturally  subsided 
into  secondaries.  The  cook  went  on  rather  sharply,  as 
283 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

she  dribbled  milk  into  the  exact  centre  of  a  little  crater 

of  flour  in  a  platter — 

'  It  might  be  in  this  case ;  she's  so  indifferent.' 

'  Dang  my  old  sides  !  and  so  it  might  be.     I  have  a 

bit  of  news — I  thought  there  was  something  upon  my 

tongue ;  but  'tis  a  secret ;  not  a  word,  mind,  not  a  word. 

Why,  Miss  Hinton  took  a  holiday  yesterday.' 

*  Yes  ?  '  inquired  the  cook,  looking  up  with  perplexed 
curiosity. 

'  D'ye  think  that's  all  ?  ' 

'Don't  be  so  three-cunning — if  it  is  all,  deliver 
you  from  the  evil  of  raising  a  woman's  expectations 
wrongfully ;  I'll  skimmer  your  pate  as  sure  as  you 
cry  Amen  !  ' 

'  Well,  it  isn't  all.  When  I  got  home  last  night  my 
wife  said,  "  Miss  Adelaide  took  a  holiday  this  mornen," 
says  she  (my  wife,  that  is) ;  "  walked  over  to  Nether 
Mynton,  met  the  comen  man,  and  got  married !  "  says 
she.' 

*  Got  married !  what,  Lord-a-mercy,  did  Springrove 
come  ? ' 

'  Springrove,  no — no — Springrove's  nothen  to  do  wi' 
it — 'twas  Farmer  BoUens.  They've  been  playing  bo- 
peep  for  these  two  or  three  months  seemingly.  Whilst 
Master  Teddy  Springrove  has  been  daddlen,  and  hawken, 
and  spetten  about  having  her,  she's  quietly  left  him  all 
forsook.  Serve  him  right.  I  don't  blame  the  Uttle 
woman  a  bit.' 

'  Farmer  BoUens  is  old  enough  to  be  her  father ! ' 

*  Ay,  quite ;  and  rich  enough  to  be  ten  fathers.  They 
say  he's  so  rich  that  he  has  business  in  every  bank, 
and  measures  his  money  in  half-pint  cups.' 

'  Lord,  I  wish  it  was  me,  don't  I  wish  'twas  me ! ' 
said  the  scullery-maid. 

*  Yes,  'twas  as  neat  a  bit  of  stitching  as  ever  I  heard 
of,'  continued  the  clerk,  with  a  fixed  eye,  as  if  he  were 
watching   the   process   from  a  distance.     '  Not  a  soul 

284 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

knew  anything  about  it,  and  my  wife  is  the  only  one  in 
our  parish  who  knows  it  yet.  Miss  Hinton  came  back 
from  the  wedden,  went  to  Mr.  Manston,  puffed  herself 
out  large,  and  said  she  was  Mrs.  BoUens,  but  that  if 
he  wished,  she  had  no  objection  to  keep  on  the  house 
till  the  regular  time  of  giving  notice  had  expired,  or  till 
he  could  get  another  tenant.' 

'  Just  like  her  independence,'  said  the  cook. 
'Well,  independent  or  no,  she's  Mrs.  Bollens  now. 
Ah,  I  shall  never  forget  once  when  I  went  by  Farmer 
Bollenb's  garden — years  ago  now — years,  when  he  was 
taking  up  ashleaf  taties.  A  merry  feller  I  was  at  that 
time,  a  very  merry  feller — for  'twas  before  I  took  holy 
orders,  and  it  didn't  prick  my  conscience  as  'twould  now. 
"  Farmer,"  says  I,  "  little  taties  seem  to  turn  out  small 
this  year,  don't  em?"  "O  no,  Crickett,"  says  he, 
"some  be  fair -sized."  He's  a  dull  man  —  Farmer 
Bollens  is — he  always  was.  However,  that's  neither 
here  nor  there;  he's  a-married  to  a  sharp  woman,  and 
if  I  don't  make  a  mistake  she'll  bring  him  a  pretty  good 
family,  gie  her  time.' 

'Well,  it  don't  matter;  there's  a  Providence  in  it,' 
said  the  scullery-maid.  '  God  A'mighty  always  sends 
bread  as  well  as  children.' 

*  But  'tis  the  bread  to  one  house  and  the  children 
to  another  very  often.  However,  I  think  I  can  see  my 
lady  Hinton's  reason  for  chosen  yesterday  to  sickness- 
or-health-it.  Your  young  miss,  and  that  one,  had  crossed 
one  another's  path  in  regard  to  young  Master  Springrove ; 
and  I  expect  that  when  Addy  Hinton  found  Miss  Graye 
wasn't  caren  to  have  en,  she  thought  she'd  be  before- 
hand with  her  old  enemy  in  marrying  somebody  else 
too.  That's  maids'  logic  all  over,  and  maids'  malice 
likewise.' 

Women  who  are  bad  enough  to  divide  against  them- 
selves   under   a    man's   partiality   are  good   enough   to 
instantly  unite  in  a  common  cause  against  his  attack- 
285 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  I'll  just  tell  you  one  thing  then,'  said  the  cook,  shaking 
out  her  words  to  the  time  of  a  whisk  she  was  beating 
eggs  with.  *  Whatever  maids'  logic  is  and  maids'  malice 
too,  if  Cytherea  Graye  even  now  knows  that  young 
Springrove  is  free  again,  she'll  fling  over  the  steward 
as  soon  as  look  at  him.' 

'  No,  no :  not  now,'  the  coachman  broke  in  like  a 
moderator.  '  There's  honour  in  that  maid,  if  ever  there 
was  in  one.  No  Miss  Hinton's  tricks  in  her.  She'll 
stick  to  Manston.' 

'  Pifh ! ' 

'  Don't  let  a  word  be  said  till  the  wedden  is  over,  for 
Heaven's  sake,'  the  clerk  continued.  '  Miss  Aldclyffe 
would  fairly  hang  and  quarter  me,  if  my  news  broke  off 
that  there  wedden  at  a  last  minute  like  this.' 

'Then  you  had  better  get  your  wife  to  bolt  you  in 
the  closet  for  an  hour  or  two,  for  you'll  chatter  it  your- 
self to  the  whole  boiling  parish  if  she  don't !  'Tis  a  poor 
womanly  feller ! ' 

'You  shouldn't  ha'  begun  it,  clerk.  I  knew  how 
'twould  be,'  said  the  gardener  soothingly,  in  a  whisper 
to  the  clerk's  mangled  remains. 

The  clerk  turned  and  smiled  at  the  fire,  and  warmed 
his  other  hand. 

3.  Noon 

The  weather  gave  way.  In  half-an-hour  there  began 
a  rapid  thaw.  By  ten  o'clock  the  roads,  though  still 
dangerous,  were  practicable  to  the  extent  of  the  half-mile 
required  by  the  people  of  Knapwater  Park.  One  mass 
of  heavy  leaden  cloud  spread  over  the  whole  sky ;  the 
air  began  to  feel  damp  and  mild  out  of  doors,  though  / 
still  cold  and  frosty  within. 

They  reached  the  church  and  passed  up  the  nave, 
the  deep-coloured  glass  of  the  narrow  windows  rendering 
the  gloom  of  the  morning  almost  night  itself  inside  the 
286 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

building.  Then  the  ceremony  began.  The  only  warmth 
or  spirit  imported  into  it  came  from  the  bridegroom, 
who  retained  a  vigorous — even  Spenserian — bridal-mood 
throughout  the  morning. 

Cytherea  was  as  firm  as  he  at  this  critical  moment, 
but  as  cold  as  the  air  surrounding  her.  The  few  per- 
sons forming  the  wedding-party  were  constrained  in 
movement  and  tone,  and  from  the  nave  of  the  church 
came  occasional  coughs,  emitted  by  those  who,  in  spite 
of  the  weather,  had  assembled  to  see  the  termination 
of  Cytherea's  existence  as  a  single  woman.  Many  poor 
people  loved  her.  They  pitied  her  success,  why,  they 
could  not  tell,  except  that  it  was  because  she  seemed  to 
stand  more  Hke  a  statue  than  Cytherea  Graye. 

Yet  she  was  prettily  and  carefully  dressed ;  a  strange 
contradiction  in  a  man's  idea  of  things — a  saddening, 
perplexing  contradiction.  Are  there  any  points  in  which 
a  difference  of  sex  amounts  to  a  difference  of  nature  ? 
Then  this  is  surely  one.  Not  so  much,  as  it  is  com- 
monly put,  in  regard  to  the  amount  of  consideration 
given,  but  in  the  conception  of  the  thing  considered. 
A  man  emasculated  by  coxcombry  may  spend  more  time 
upon  the  arrangement  of  his  clothes  than  any  woman, 
but  even  then  there  is  no  fetichism  in  his  idea  of  them 
— they  are  still  only  a  covering  he  uses  for  a  time.  But 
here  was  Cytherea,  in  the  bottom  of  her  heart  almost 
indifferent  to  life,  yet  possessing  an  instinct  with  which 
her  heart  had  nothing  to  do,  the  instinct  to  be  particu- 
larly regardful  of  those  sorry  trifles,  her  robe,  her  flowers, 
her  veil,  and  her  gloves. 

The  irrevocable  words  were  soon  spoken — the  in- 
delible writing  soon  written — and  they  came  out  of  the 
vestry.  Candles  had  been  necessary  here  to  enable 
them  to  sign  their  names,  and  on  their  return  to  the 
church  the  light  from  the  candles  streamed  from  the 
small  open  door,  and  across  the  chancel  to  a  black 
chestnut  screen  on  the  south  side,  dividing  it  from  a 
287 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

small  chapel  or  chantry,  erected  for  the  soul's  peace  of 
some  Aldclyffe  of  the  past.  Through  the  open-work  of 
this  screen  could  now  be  seen  illuminated,  inside  the 
chantry,  the  reclining  figures  of  cross-legged  knights, 
damp  and  green  with  age,  and  above  them  a  huge  classic 
monument,  also  inscribed  to  the  Aldclyffe  family,  heavily 
sculptured  in  cadaverous  marble. 

Leaning  here — almost  hanging  to  the  monument — 
was  Edward  Springrove,  or  his  spirit. 

The  weak  daylight  would  never  have  revealed  him, 
shaded  as  he  was  by  the  screen;  but  the  unexpected 
rays  of  candle-light  in  the  front  showed  him  forth  in 
startling  relief  to  any  and  all  of  those  whose  eyes  wan- 
dered in  that  direction.  The  sight  was  a  sad  one — sad 
beyond  all  description.  His  eyes  were  wild,  their  orbits 
leaden.  His  face  was  of  a  sickly  paleness,  his  hair  dry 
and  disordered,  his  lips  parted  as  if  he  could  get  no 
l)reath.  His  figure  was  spectre-thin.  His  actions  seemed 
beyond  his  own  control. 

Manston  did  not  see  him ;  Cytherea  did.  The  heal- 
ing effect  upon  her  heart  of  a  year's  silence — a  year  and 
a  halfs  separation — was  undone  in  an  instant.  One 
of  those  strange  revivals  of  passion  by  mere  sight — 
commoner  in  women  than  in  men,  and  in  oppressed 
women  commonest  of  all — had  taken  place  in  her — so 
transcendently,  that  even  to  herself  it  seemed  more  like 
a  new  creation  than  a  revival. 

Marrying  for  a  home — what  a  mockery  it  was  ! 
It  may  be  said  that  the  means  most  potent  for  re- 
kindling old  love  in  a  maiden's  heart  are,  to  see  her 
lover  in  laughter  and  good  spirits  in  her  despite  when 
the  breach  has  been  owing  to  a  slight  from  herself; 
when  owing  to  a  slight  from  him,  to  see  him  suffering 
for  his  own  fault.  If  he  is  happy  in  a  clear  conscience, 
she  blames  him  ;  if  he  is  miserable  because  deeply  to 
blame,  she  blames  herself.  The  latter  was  Cytherea's 
case  now. 

288 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

First,  an  agony  of  face  told  of  the  suppressed  misery 
within  her,  which  presently  could  be  suppressed  no 
longer.  When  they  were  coming  out  of  the  porch, 
there  broke  from  her  in  a  low,  plaintive  scream  the 
words,  '  He's  dying — dying  !  O  God,  save  us  ! '  She 
began  to  sink  down,  and  would  have  fallen  had  not 
Manston  caught  her.  The  chief  bridesmaid  applied  her 
vinaigrette. 

'  What  did  she  say  ?  '  inquired  Manston. 

Owen  was  the  only  one  to  whom  the  words  were 
intelligible,  and  he  was  far  too  deeply  impressed,  or 
rather  alarmed,  to  reply.  She  did  not  faint,  and  soon 
began  to  recover  her  self-command.  Owen  took  advan- 
tage of  the  hindrance  to  step  back  to  where  the  appari- 
tion had  been  seen.  He  was  enraged  with  Springrove 
for  what  he  considered  an  unwarrantable  intrusion. 

But  Edward  was  not  in  the  chantry.  As  he  had 
come,  so  he  had  gone,  nobody  could  tell  how  or 
whither. 

4.  Afternoon 

It  might  almost  have  been  believed  that  a  transmu- 
tation had  taken  place  in  Cytherea's  idiosyncrasy,  that 
her  moral  nature  had  fled. 

The  wedding-party  returned  to  the  house.  As  soon 
as  he  could  find  an  opportunity,  Owen  took  his  sister 
aside  to  speak  privately  with  her  on  what  had  happened. 
The  expression  of  her  face  was  hard,  wild,  and  unreal — 
an  expression  he  had  never  seen  there  before,  and  it 
disturbed  him.      He  spoke  to  her  severely  and  sadly. 

'  Cytherea,'  he  said,  '  I  know  the  cause  of  this 
emotion  of  yours.  But  remember  this,  there  was  no 
excuse  for  it.  You  should  have  been  woman  enough  to 
control  yourself.  Remember  whose  wife  you  are,  and 
don't  think  anything  more  of  a  mean-spirited  fellow  like 
Springrove ;  he  had  no  business  to   come  there  as  he 

289  T 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

did.  You  are  altogether  wrong,  Cytherea,  and  I  am 
vexed  with  you  more  than  I  can  say — very  vexed.' 

'  Say  ashamed  of  me  at  once/  she  bitterly  answered. 

'  I  am  ashamed  of  you,'  he  retorted  angrily ;  '  the 
mood  has  not  left  you  yet,  then  ? ' 

'  Owen,'  she  said,  and  paused.  Her  lip  trembled ; 
her  eye  told  of  sensations  too  deep  for  tears.  '  No, 
Owen,  it  has  not  left  me ;  and  I  will  be  honest.  I  own 
now  to  you,  without  any  disguise  of  words,  what  last 
night  I  did  not  own  to  myself,  because  I  hardly  knew 
of  it.  I  love  Edward  Springrove  with  all  my  strength, 
and  heart,  and  soul.  You  call  me  a  wanton  for  it, 
don't  you?  I  don't  care;  I  have  gone  beyond  caring 
for  anything ! '  She  looked  stonily  into  his  face  and 
made  the  speech  calmly. 

'  Well,  poor  Cytherea,  don't  talk  like  that ! '  he  said, 
alarmed  at  her  manner. 

'  I  thought  that  I  did  not  love  him  at  all,'  she  went 
on  hysterically.  '  A  year  and  a  half  had  passed  since 
we  met.  I  could  go  by  the  gate  of  his  garden  without 
thinking  of  him — look  at  his  seat  in  church  and  not 
care.  But  I  saw  him  this  morning — dying  because  he 
loves  me  so — I  know  it  is  that !  Can  I  help  loving 
him  too?  No,  I  cannot,  and  I  will  love  him,  and 
I  don't  care !  We  have  been  separated  somehow  by 
some  contrivance — I  know  we  have.  O,  if  I  could 
only  die ! ' 

He  held  her  in  his  arms.  '  Many  a  woman  has  gone 
to  ruin  herself,'  he  said,  'and  brought  those  who  love 
her  into  disgrace,  by  acting  upon  such  impulses  as 
possess  you  now.  I  have  a  reputation  to  lose  as  well 
as  you.  It  seems  that  do  what  I  will  by  way  of  remedy- 
ing the  stains  which  fell  upon  us,  it  is  all  doomed  to  be 
undone  again.'  His  voice  grew  husky  as  he  made  the 
reply. 

The  right  and  only  effective  chord  had  been  touched. 
Since  she  had  seen  Edward,  she  had  thought  only  of 
290 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

herself  and  him.     Owen — her  name — position — future 
— had  been  as  if  they  did  not  exist. 

'  I  won't  give  way  and  become  a  disgrace  to  you,  at 
any  rate,'  she  said. 

'  Besides,  your  duty  to  society,  and  those  about  you, 
requires  that  you  should  live  with  (at  any  rate)  all 
the  appearance  of  a  good  wife,  and  try  to  love  your 
husband.' 

«Yes — my  duty  to  society,'  she  murmured.  'But 
ah,  Owen,  it  is  difficult  to  adjust  our  outer  and  inner 
life  with  perfect  honesty  to  all !  Though  it  may  be  right 
to  care  more  for  the  benefit  of  the  many  than  for  the 
indulgence  of  your  own  single  self,  when  you  consider 
that  the  many,  and  duty  to  them,  only  exist  to  you . 
through  your  own  existence,  what  can  be  said  ?  What 
do  our  own  acquaintances  care  about  us  ?  Not  much. 
I  think  of  mine.  Mine  will  now  (do  they  learn  all  the 
wicked  frailty  of  my  heart  in  this  affair)  look  at  me, 
smile  sickly,  and  condemn  me.  And  perhaps,  far  in 
time  to  come,  when  I  am  dead  and  gone,  some  other's 
accent,  or  some  other's  song,  or  thought,  like  an  old  one 
of  mine,  will  carry  them  back  to  what  I  used  to  say, 
and  hurt  their  hearts  a  little  that  they  blamed  me  so  soon. 
And  they  will  pause  just  for  an  instant,  and  give  a  sigh 
to  me,  and  think,  "  Poor  girl !  "  believing  they  do  great 
justice  to  my  memory  by  this.  But  they  will  never, 
never  realize  that  it  was  my  single  opportunity  of  exist- 
ence, as  well  as  of  doing  my  duty,  which  they  are  re- 
garding; they  will  not  feel  that  what  to  them  is  but  a 
thought,  easily  held  in  those  two  words  of  pity,  "  Poor 
girl !  "  was  a  whole  life  to  me ;  as  full  of  hours,  minutes, 
and  peculiar  minutes,  of  hopes  and  dreads,  smiles, 
whisperings,  tears,  as  theirs  :  that  it  was  my  world,  what 
is  to  them  their  world,  and  they  in  that  life  of  mine, 
however  much  I  cared  for  them,  only  as  the  thought  I 
seem  to  them  to  be.  Nobody  can  enter  into  another's 
nature  truly,  that's  what  is  so  grievous.' 
291 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Well,  it  cannot  be  helped,'  said  Owen. 

'  But  we  must  not  stay  here,'  she  continued,  starting 
up  and  going.  '  We  shall  be  missed.  I'll  do  my  best, 
Owen — I  will,  indeed.' 

It  had  been  decided  that  on  account  of  the  wretched 
state  of  the  roads,  the  newly-married  pair  should  not 
drive  to  the  station  till  the  latest  hour  in  the  afternoon 
at  which  they  could  get  a  train  to  take  them  to  South- 
ampton (their  destination  that  night)  by  a  reasonable 
time  in  the  evening.  They  intended  the  next  morn- 
ing to  cross  to  Havre,  and  thence  to  Paris — a  place 
Cytherea  had  never  visited — for  their  wedding  tour. 

The  afternoon  drew  on.  The  packing  was  done. 
Cytherea  was  so  restless  that  she  could  stay  still  no- 
where. Miss  Aldclyffe,  who,  though  she  took  little  part 
in  the  day's  proceedings,  was,  as  it  were,  instinctively 
conscious  of  all  their  movements,  put  down  her  charge's 
agitation  for  once  as  the  natural  result  of  the  novel 
event,  and  Manston  himself  was  as  indulgent  as  could 
be  wished. 

At  length  Cytherea  wandered  alone  into  the  con- 
servatory. When  in  it,  she  thought  she  would  run 
across  to  the  hot-house  in  the  outer  garden,  having  in 
her  heart  a  whimsical  desire  that  she  should  also  like 
to  take  a  last  look  at  the  familiar  flowers  and  luxuriant 
leaves  collected  there.  She  pulled  on  a  pair  of  over- 
shoes, and  thither  she  went.  Not  a  soul  was  in  or 
around  the  place.  The  gardener  was  making  merry  on 
Manston's  and  her  account. 

The  happiness  that  a  generous  spirit  derives  from 
the  belief  that  it  exists  in  others  is  often  greater  than 
the  primary  happiness  itself  The  gardener  thought, 
'  How  happy  they  are ! '  and  the  thought  made  him 
happier  than  they. 

Coming  out  of  the  forcing-house  again,  she  was  on 
the  point  of  returning  indoors,  when  a  feeling  that 
these  moments  of  solitude  would  be  her  last  of  freedom 
292 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

induced  her  to  prolong  them  a  little,  and  she  stood 
still,  unheeding  the  wintry  aspect  of  the  curly-leaved 
plants,  the  straw-covered  beds,  and  the  bare  fruit-trees 
around  her.  The  garden,  no  part  of  which  was  visible 
from  the  house,  sloped  down  to  a  narrow  river  at  the 
foot,  dividing  it  from  the  meadows  without. 

A  man  was  lingering  along  the  pubhc  path  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river ;  she  fancied  she  knew  the  form. 
Her  resolutions,  taken  in  the  presence  of  Owen,  did 
not  fail  her  now.  She  hoped  and  prayed  that  it  might 
not  be  one  who  had  stolen  her  heart  away,  and  still 
kept  it.  Why  should  he  have  reappeared  at  all,  when 
he  had  declared  that  he  went  out  of  her  sight  for  ever  ? 

She  hastily  hid  herself,  in  the  lowest  corner  of  the 
garden  close  to  the  river.  A  large  dead  tree,  thickly 
robed  in  ivy,  had  been  considerably  depressed  by  its 
icy  load  of  the  morning,  and  hung  low  over  the  stream, 
which  here  ran  slow  and  deep.  The  tree  screened  her 
from  the  eyes  of  any  passer  on  the  other  side. 

She  waited  timidly,  and  her  timidity  increased.  She 
would  not  allow  herself  to  see  him — she  would  hear  him 
pass,  and  then  look  to  see  if  it  had  been  Edward. 

Butj  before  she  heard  anything,  she  became  aware 
of  an  object  reflected  in  the  water  from  under  the  tree 
which  hung  over  the  river  in  such  a  way  that,  though 
hiding  the  actual  path,  and  objects  upon  it,  it  permitted 
their  reflected  images  to  pass  beneath  its  boughs.  The 
reflected  form  was  that  of  the  man  she  had  seen  further 
off,  but  being  inverted,  she  could  not  definitely  charac- 
terize him. 

He  was  looking  at  the  upper  windows  of  the  House 
—  at  hers — was  it  Edward,  indeed  ?  If  so,  he  was 
probably  thinking  he  would  like  to  say  one  parting 
word.  He  came  closer,  gazed  into  the  stream,  and 
walked  very  slowly.  She  was  almost  certain  that  it  was 
Edward.  She  kept  more  safely  hidden.  Conscience 
told   her  that    she    ought    not    to    see   him.     But   she 

u  293 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

suddenly  asked  herself  a  question  :  '  Can  it  be  possible 
that  he  sees  my  reflected  image,  as  I  see  his?  Of 
course  he  does  ! ' 

He  was  looking  at  her  in  the  water. 

She  could  not  help  herself  now.  She  stepped  for- 
ward just  as  he  emerged  from  the  other  side  of  the 
tree  and  appeared  erect  before  her.  It  was  Edward 
Springrove — till  the  inverted  vision  met  his  eye,  dream- 
ing no  more  of  seeing  his  Cytherea  there  than  of  seeing 
the  dead  themselves. 

'  Cytherea ! ' 

'  Mr.  Springrove,'  she  returned,  in  a  low  voice,  across 
the  stream. 

He  was  the  first  to  speak  again. 

'  Since  we  have  met,  I  want  to  tell  you  something, 
before  we  become  quite  as  strangers  to  each  other.' 

*  No — not  now — I  did  not  mean  to  speak — it  is  not 
right,  Edward.'  She  spoke  hurriedly  and  turned  away 
from  him,  beating  the  air  with  her  hand. 

'  Not  one  common  word  of  explanation  ?  '  he  im- 
plored. '  Don't  think  I  am  bad  enough  to  try  to  lead 
you  astray.     Well,  go — it  is  better.' 

Their  eyes  met  again.  She  was  nearly  choked.  O, 
how  she  longed — and  dreaded — to  hear  his  explanation  ! 

*  What  is  it  ? '  she  said  desperately. 

'  It  is  that  I  did  not  come  to  the  church  this  morning 
in  order  to  distress  you  :  I  did  not,  Cytherea.  It  was 
to  try  to  speak  to  you  before  you  were — married.' 

He  stepped  closer,  and  went  on,  '  You  know  what 
has  taken  place  ?  Surely  you  do  ?  —  my  cousin  is 
married,  and  I  am  free.' 

'Married — and  not  to  you?'  Cytherea  faltered,  in  a 
weak  whisper. 

'  Yes,  she  was  married  yesterday  !     A  rich  man  had 

appeared,  and  she  jilted  me.     She  said  she  never  would 

have  jilted  a  stranger,  but  that  by  jilting  me,  she  only 

exercised  the  right  everybody  has  of  snubbing  their  own 

294 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

relations.  But  that's  nothing  now.  I  came  to  you  to 
ask  once  more  if.  .  .  .  But  I  was  too  late.' 

'  But,  Edward,  what's  that,  what's  that ! '  she  cried, 
in  an  agony  of  reproach.  '  Why  did  you  leave  me  to 
return  to  her  ?  Why  did  you  write  me  that  cruel,  cruel 
letter  that  nearly  killed  me  ! ' 

'  Cytherea  !  Why,  you  had  grown  to  love — like — 
Mr.  Manston,  and  how  could  you  be  anything  to  me — 
or  care  for  me  ?     Surely  I  acted  naturally  ?  ' 

i  O  no — never  !  I  loved  you — only  you — not  him — 
always  you  ! — till  lately.  ...  I  try  to  love  him  now.' 

'  But  that  can't  be  correct !  Miss  Aldclyffe  told  me 
that  you  wanted  to  hear  no  more  of  me — proved  it  to 
me  ! '  said  Edward. 

*  Never  !  she  couldn't.' 

'  She  did,  Cytherea.  And  she  sent  me  a  letter — a 
love-letter,  you  wrote  to  Mr.  Manston.' 

*  A  love-letter  I  wrote  ? ' 

'  Yes,  a  love-letter — you  could  not  meet  him  just  then, 
you  said  you  were  sorry,  but  the  emotion  you  had  felt 
with  him  made  you  forgetful  of  realities.' 

The  strife  of  thought  in  the  unhappy  girl  who  listened 
to  this  distortion  of  her  meaning  could  find  no  vent  in 
words.  And  then  there  followed  the  slow  revelation 
in  return,  bringing  with  it  all  the  misery  of  an  expla- 
nation which  comes  too  late.  The  question  whether 
Miss  Aldclyffe  were  schemer  or  dupe  was  almost  passed 
over  by  Cytherea,  under  the  immediate  oppressiveness 
of  her  despair  in  the  sense  that  her  position  was  irre- 
trievable. 

Not  so  Springrove.  He  saw  through  all  the  cunning 
half-misrepresentations  —  worse  than  downright  lies — 
which  had  just  been  sufficient  to  turn  the  scale  both 
with  him  and  with  her;  and  from  the  bottom  of  his 
soul  he  cursed  the  woman  and  man  who  had  brought 
all  this  agony  upon  him  and  his  Love.  But  he  could 
not  add  more  misery  to  the  future  of  the  poor  child  by 
295 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

revealing  too  much.     The  whole   scheme  she  should 
never  know. 

'  I  was  indifferent  to  my  own  future,'  Edward  said, 
'  and  was  urged  to  promise  adherence  to  my  engagement 
with  my  cousin  Adelaide  by  Miss  Aldclyffe :  now  you 
are  married  I  cannot  tell  you  how,  but  it  was  on  account 
of  my  father.  Being  forbidden  to  think  of  you,  what 
did  I  care  about  anything  ?  My  new  thought  that  you 
still  loved  me  was  first  raised  by  what  my  father  said  in 
the  letter  announcing  my  cousin's  marriage.  He  said 
that  although  you  were  to  be  married  on  Old  Christmas 
Day — that  is  to-morrow — he  had  noticed  your  appear- 
ance with  pity :  he  thought  you  loved  me  still.  It  was 
enough  for  me — I  came  down  by  the  earliest  morning 
train,  thinking  I  could  see  you  some  time  to-day,  the 
day,  as  I  thought,  before  your  marriage,  hoping,  but 
hardly  daring  to  hope,  that  you  might  be  induced  to 
marry  me.  I  hurried  from  the  station ;  when  I  reached 
the  village  I  saw  idlers  about  the  church,  and  the  private 
gate  leading  to  the  House  open.  I  ran  into  the  church 
by  the  small  door  and  saw  you  come  out  of  the  vestry  ;  I. 
was  too  late.  I  have  now  told  you.  I  was  compelled  to 
tell  you.  O,  my  lost  darling,  now  I  shall  live  content — 
or  die  content ! ' 

'  I  am  to  blame,  Edward,  I  am,'  she  said  mourn- 
fully ;  •  I  was  taught  to  dread  pauperism ;  my  nights 
were  made  sleepless  ;  there  was  continually  reiterated  in 
my  ears  till  I  believed  it — 

'  "  The  world  and  its  ways  have  a  certain  worth, 
And  to  press  a  point  where  these  oppose 
Were  a  simple  policy." 

But  I  will  say  nothing  about  who  influenced — who  per- 
suaded. The  act  is  mine,  after  all.  Edward,  I  married 
to  escape  dependence  for  my  bread  upon  the  whim  of 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  or  others  like  her.  It  was  clearly  repre- 
sented to  me  that  dependence  is  bearable  if  we  have 
296 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

another  place  which  we  can  call  home ;  but  to  be  a 
dependent  and  to  have  no  other  spot  for  the  heart  to 
anchor  upon — O,  it  is  mournful  and  harassing !  .  ,  , 
But  that  without  which  all  persuasion  would  have  been 
as  air,  was  added  by  my  miserable  conviction  that  you 
were  false ;  that  did  it,  that  turned  me  !  You  were  to 
be  considered  as  nobody  to  me,  and  Mr.  Manston  was 
invariably  kind.  Well,  the  deed  is  done — I  must  abide 
by  it.  I  shall  never  let  him  know  that  I  do  not  love  him 
— never.  If  things  had  only  remained  as  they  seemed 
to  be,  if  you  had  really  forgotten  me  and  married  another 
woman,  I  could  have  borne  it  better,  I  wish  I  did  not 
know  the  truth  as  I  know  it  now !  But  our  life,  what 
is  it?  Let  us  be  brave,  Edward,  and  live  out  our  few 
remaining  years  with  dignity.  They  will  not  be  long. 
O,  I  hope  they  will  not  be  long !  .  .  .  Now,  good-bye, 
good-bye ! ' 

'  I  wish  I  could  be  near  and  touch  you  once,  just 
once,'  said  Springrove,  in  a  voice  which  he  vainly  en- 
deavoured to  keep  firm  and  clear. 

They  looked  at  the  river,  then  into  it ;  a  shoal  of 
minnows  was  floating  over  the  sandy  bottom,  like  the 
black  dashes  on  miniver ;  though  narrow,  the  stream 
was  deep,  and  there  was  no  bridge. 

'  Cytherea,  reach  out  your  hand  that  I  may  just  touch 
it  with  mine.' 

She  stepped  to  the  brink  and  stretched  out  her  hand 
and  fingers  towards  his,  but  not  into  them.  The  river 
was  too  wide. 

'  Never  mind,'  said  Cytherea,  her  voice  broken  by 
agitation,  '  I  must  be  going.  God  bless  and  keep  you, 
my  Edward  !     God  bless  you  ! ' 

'  I  must  touch  you,  I  must  press  your  hand,'  he  said. 

They  came  near — nearer — nearer  still — their  fingers 
met.  There  was  a  long  firm  clasp,  so  close  and  still 
that  each  hand  could  feel  the  other's  pulse  throbbing 
beside  its  own. 

297 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  My  Cytherea  !  my  stolen  pet  lamb ! ' 

She  glanced  a  mute  farewell  from  her  large  perturbed 
eyes,  turned,  and  ran  up  the  garden  without  looking 
back.  All  was  over  between  them.  The  river  flowed 
on  as  quietly  and  obtusely  as  ever,  and  the  minnows 
gathered  again  in  their  favourite  spot  as  if  they  had 
never  been  disturbed. 

Nobody  indoors  guessed  from  her  countenance  and 
bearing  that  her  heart  -was  near  to  breaking  with  the 
intensity  of  the  misery  which  gnawed  there.  At  these 
times  a  woman  does  not  faint,  or  weep,  or  scream,  as 
she  will  in  the  moment  of  sudden  shocks.  When  lanced 
by  a  mental  agony  of  such  refined  and  special  torture 
that  it  is  indescribable  by  men's  words,  she  moves 
among  her  acquaintances  much  as  before,  and  contrives 
so  to  cast  her  actions  in  the  old  moulds  that  she  is 
only  considered  to  be  rather  duller  than  usual. 


5.  Half- PAST  Two  to  Five  o'clock  p.m. 

Owen  accompanied  the  newly-married  couple  to  the 
railway-station,  and  in  his  anxiety  to  see  the  last  of  his 
sister,  left  the  brougham  and  stood  upon  his  crutches 
whilst  the  train  was  starting. 

When  the  husband  and  wife  were  about  to  enter  the 
railway- carriage  they  saw  one  of  the  porters  looking 
frequently  and  furtively  at  them.  He  was  pale,  and 
apparently  very  ill. 

'  Look  at  that  poor  sick  man,'  said  Cytherea  com- 
passionately, *  surely  he  ought  not  to  be  here.' 

'  He's  been  very  queer  to-day,  madam,  very  queer,' 
another  porter  answered.  '  He  do  hardly  hear  when 
he's  spoken  to,  and  d'  seem  giddy,  or  as  if  something 
was  on  his  mind.  He's  been  like  it  for  this  month 
past,  but  nothing  so  bad  as  he  is  to-day.' 

*  Poor  thing.' 

298 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

She  could  not  resist  an  innate  desire  to  do  some 
just  thing  on  this  most  deceitful  and  wretched  day  of 
her  life.  Going  up  to  him  she  gave  him  money,  and 
told  him  to  send  to  the  old  manor-house  for  wine  or 
whatever  he  wanted. 

The  train  moved  off  as  the  trembling  man  was  mur- 
muring his  incoherent  thanks.  Owen  waved  his  hand ; 
Cytherea  smiled  back  to  him  as  if  it  were  unknown  to 
her  that  she  wept  all  the  while. 

Owen  was  driven  back  to  the  Old  House.  But  he 
could  not  rest  in  the  lonely  place.  His  conscience 
began  to  reproach  him  for  having  forced  on  the  marriage 
of  his  sister  with  a  little  too  much  peremptoriness. 
Taking  up  his  crutches  he  went  out  of  doors  and 
wandered  about  the  muddy  roads  with  no  object  in 
view  save  that  of  getting  rid  of  time. 

The  clouds  which  had  hung  so  low  and  densely 
during  the  day  cleared  from  the  west  just  now  as  the 
sun  was  setting,  calling  forth  a  weakly  twitter  from  a 
few  small  birds.  Owen  crawled  down  the  path  to  the 
waterfall,  and  lingered  thereabout  till  the  solitude  of 
the  place  oppressed  him,  when  he  turned  back  and 
into  the  road  to  the  village.  He  was  sad ;  he  said 
to  himself — 

'  If  there  is  ever  any  meaning  in  those  heavy  feelings 
which  are  called  presentiments — and  I  don't  believe 
there  is — there  will  be  in  mine  to-day.  .  .  .  Poor  little 
Cytherea ! ' 

At  that  moment  the  last  low  rays  of  the  sun  touched 
the  head  and  shoulders  of  a  man  who  was  approaching, 
and  showed  him  up  to  Owen's  view.     It  was  old  Mr. 
Springrove.     They  had  grown  familiar  with  each  other 
by  reason   of  Owen's  visits   to   Knapwater  during  the 
past  year.     The  farmer  inquired  how  Owen's  foot  was 
progressing,  and  was  glad  to  see  him  so  nimble  again. 
'  How  is  your  son  ?  '  said  Owen  mechanically. 
'  He  is  at  home,  sitting  by  the  fire,'  said  the  farmer, 
299 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

in  a  sad  voice.  '  This  morning  he  slipped  indoors  from 
God  knows  where,  and  there  he  sits  and  mopes,  and 
thinks,  and  thinks,  and  presses  his  head  so  hard,  that 
I  can't  help  feeUng  for  him.' 

'  Is  he  married  ? '  said  Owen.  Cytherea  had  feared 
to  tell  him  of  the  interview  in  the  garden. 

'  No.  I  can't  quite  understand  how  the  matter 
rests.  ...  Ah !  Edward,  too,  who  started  with  such 
promise;  that  he  should  now  have  become  such  a 
careless  fellow — not  a  month  in  one  place.  There, 
Mr.  Graye,  I  know  what  it  is  mainly  owing  to.  If  it 
hadn't  been  for  that  heart  affair,  he  might  have  done 

but  the  less  said  about  him  the  better.     I  don't 

know  what  we  should  have  done  if  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
insisted  upon  the  conditions  of  the  leases.  Your 
brother-in-law,  the  steward,  had  a  hand  in  making  it 
light  for  us,  I  know,  and  I  heartily  thank  him  for  it.' 
He  ceased  speaking,  and  looked  round  at  the  sky. 

'  Have  you  heard  o'  what's  happened  ? '  he  said 
suddenly;  '  I  was  just  coming  out  to  learn  about  it.' 

'  I  haven't  heard  of  anything.' 

'  It  is  something  very  serious,  though  I  don't  know 
what.  All  I  know  is  what  I  heard  a  man  call  out  by- 
now — that  it  very  much  concerns  somebody  who  lives 
in  the  parish.' 

It  seems  singular  enough,  even  to  minds  who  have 
no  dim  beliefs  in  adumbration  and  presentiment,  that 
at  that  moment  not  the  shadow  of  a  thought  crossed 
Owen's  mind  that  the  somebody  whom  the  matter  con- 
cerned might  be  himself,  or  any  belonging  to  him. 
The  event  about  to  transpire  was  as  portentous  to  the 
woman  whose  welfare  was  more  dear  to  him  than  his 
own,  as  any,  short  of  death  itself,  could  possibly  be; 
and  ever  afterwards,  when  he  considered  the  eftect  of 
the  knowledge  the  next  half-hour  conveyed  to  his  brain, 
even  his  practical  good  sense  could  not  refrain  from 
wonder  that  he  should  have  walked  toward  the  village, 
300 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

after  hearing  those  words  of  the  farmer,  in  so  leisurely 
and  unconcerned  a  way.  '  How  unutterably  mean  must 
my  intelligence  have  appeared  to  the  eye  of  a  foresee- 
ing God,'  he  frequently  said  in  after-time.  'Columbus 
on  the  eve  of  his  discovery  of  a  world  was  not  so  con- 
temptibly unaware.' 

After  a  few  additional  words  of  common-place  the 
farmer  left  him,  and,  as  has  been  said,  Owen  proceeded 
slowly  and  indifferently  towards  the  village. 

The  labouring  men  had  just  left  work,  and  passed 
the  park  gate,  which  opened  into  the  street  as  Owen 
came  down  towards  it.  They  went  along  in  a  drift, 
earnestly  talking,  and  were  finally  about  to  turn  in  at 
their  respective  doorways.  But  upon  seeing  him  they 
looked  significantly  at  one  another,  and  paused.  He 
came  into  the  road,  on  that  side  of  the  village-green 
which  was  opposite  the  row  of  cottages,  and  turned 
round  to  the  right.  When  Owen  turned,  all  eyes 
turned;  one  or  two  men  went  hurriedly  indoors,  and 
afterwards  appeared  at  the  doorstep  with  their  wives, 
who  also  contemplated  him,  talking  as  they  looked. 
They  seemed  uncertain  how  to  act  in  some  matter. 

'If  they  want  me,  surely  they  will  call  me,'  he 
thought,  wondering  more  and  more.  He  could  no 
longer  doubt  that  he  was  connected  with  the  subject 
of  their  discourse. 

The  first  who  approached  him  was  a  boy. 

*  What  has  occurred  ?  '  said  Owen. 

'  O,  a  man  ha'  got  crazy-religious,  and  sent  for  the 
pa'son.' 

'  Is  that  all  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  sir.  He  wished  he  was  dead,  he  said,  and  he's 
almost  out  of  his  mind  wi'  wishen  it  so  much.  That 
was  before  Mr.  Raunham  came.' 

'  Who  is  he  ? '  said  Owen. 

'  Joseph  Chinney,  one  of  the  railway-porters ;  he 
used  to  be  night-porter.' 

301 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

« Ah — the  man  who  was  ill  this  afternoon ;  by  the 
way,  he  was  told  to  come  to  the  Old  House  for  some- 
thing, but  he  hasn't  been.  But  has  anything  else  hap- 
pened— anything  that  concerns  the  wedding  to-day  ? ' 

'  No,  sir.' 

Concluding  that  the  connection  which  had  seemed 
to  be  traced  between  himself  and  the  event  must  in 
some  way  have  arisen  from  Cytherea's  friendliness  to- 
wards the  man,  Owen  turned  about  and  went  home- 
wards in  a  much  quieter  frame  of  mind — yet  scarcely 
satisfied  with  the  solution.  The  route  he  had  chosen 
led  through  the  dairy-yard,  and  he  opened  the  gate. 

Five  minutes  before  this  point  of  time,  Edward 
Springrove  was  looking  over  one  of  his  father's  fields 
at  an  outlying  hamlet  of  three  or  four  cottages  some 
mile  and  a  half  distant.  A  turnpike-gate  was  close  by 
the  gate  of  the  field. 

The  carrier  to  Casterbridge  came  up  as  Edward 
stepped  into  the  road,  and  jumped  down  from  the  van 
to  pay  toll.  He  recognized  Springrove.  '  This  is  a 
pretty  set-to  in  your  place,  sir,'  he  said.  *  You  don't 
know  about  it,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  What  ?  '  said  Springrove. 

The  carrier  paid  his  dues,  came  up  to  Edward,  and 
spoke  ten  words  in  a  confidential  whisper :  then  sprang 
upon  the  shafts  of  his  vehicle,  gave  a  clinching  nod  of 
significance  to  Springrove,  and  rattled  away. 

Edward  turned  pale  with  the  intelligence.  His  first 
thought  was,  '  Bring  her  home  ! ' 

The  next — did  Owen  Graye  know  what  had  been 
discovered  ?  He  probably  did  by  that  time,  but  no 
risks  of  probabiHty  must  be  run  by  a  woman  he  loved 
dearer  than  all  the  world  besides.  He  would  at  any 
rate  make  perfectly  sure  that  her  brother  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  knowledge,  by  telling  it  him  with  his  own 
lips. 

Off  he  ran  in  the  direction  of  the  old  manor-house. 
302 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  path  was  across  arable  land,  and  was  ploughed 
up  with  the  rest  of  the  field  every  autumn,  after  which 
it  was  trodden  out  afresh.  The  thaw  had  so  loosened 
the  soft  earth,  that  lumps  of  stiff  mud  were  lifted  by 
his  feet  at  every  leap  he  took,  and  flung  against  him 
by  his  rapid  motion,  as  it  were  doggedly  impeding 
him,  and  increasing  tenfold  the  customary  effort  of 
running. 

But  he  ran  on — uphill,  and  downhill,  the  same  pace 
alike — like  the  shadow  of  a  cloud.  His  nearest  direc- 
tion, too,  like  Owen's,  was  through  the  dairy- barton, 
and  as  Owen  entered  it  he  saw  the  figure  of  Edward 
rapidly  descending  the  opposite  hill,  at  a  distance  of 
two  or  three  hundred  yards.  Owen  advanced  amid  the 
cows. 

The  dairyman,  who  had  hitherto  been  talking  loudly 
on  some  absorbing  subject  to  the  maids  and  men  milk- 
ing around  him,  turned  his  face  towards  the  head  of  the 
cow  when  Owen  passed,  and  ceased  speaking. 

Owen  approached  him  and  said — 

'  A  singular  thing  has  happened,  I  hear.  The  man 
is  not  insane,  I  suppose  ? ' 

'  Not  he — he's  sensible  enough,'  said  the  dairyman, 
and  paused.  He  was  a  man  noisy  with  his  associates 
— stolid  and  taciturn  with  strangers. 

'  Is  it  true  that  he  is  Chinney,  the  railway-porter  ? ' 

'  That's  the  man,  sir.'  The  maids  and  men  sitting 
under  the  cows  were  all  attentively  listening  to  this  dis- 
course, milking  irregularly,  and  softly  directing  the  jets 
against  the  sides  of  the  pail. 

Owen  could  contain  himself  no  longer,  much  as  his 
mind  dreaded  anything  of  the  nature  of  ridicule.  '  The 
people  all  seem  to  look  at  me,  as  if  something  seriously 
concerned  me  ;  is  it  this  stupid  matter,  or  what  is  it  ? ' 

'  Surely,  sir,  you  know  better  than  anybody  else  if 
such  a  strange  thing  concerns  you.' 

'  What  strange  thing  ? ' 

303 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Don't  you  know !  His  confessing  to  Parson 
Raunham.' 

•  What  did  he  confess  ?     Tell  me.' 

'If  you  really  ha'n't  heard,  'tis  this.  He  was  as 
usual  on  duty  at  the  station  on  the  night  of  the  fire  last 
year,  otherwise  he  wouldn't  ha'  known  it.' 

'  Known  what  ?     For  God's  sake  tell,  man  ! ' 

But  at  this  instant  the  two  opposite  gates  of  the 
dairy-yard,  one  on  the  6ast,  the  other  on  the  west  side, 
slammed  almost  simultaneously. 

The  rector  from  one,  Springrove  from  the  other, 
came  striding  across  the  barton. 

Edward  was  nearest,  and  spoke  first.  He  said  in 
a  low  voice  :  *  Your  sister  is  not  legally  married  !  His 
first  wife  is  still  living !  How  it  comes  out  I  don't 
know ! ' 

'  O,  here  you  are  at  last,  Mr.  Graye,  thank  Heaven  ! ' 
said  the  rector  breathlessly.  '  I  have  been  to  the  Old 
House,  and  then  to  Miss  Aldclyffe's  looking  for  you — 
something  very  extraordinary.'  He  beckoned  to  Owen, 
afterwards  included  Springrove  in  his  glance,  and  the 
three  stepped  aside  together. 

'  A  porter  at  the  station.  He  was  a  curious  nervous 
man.  He  had  been  in  a  strange  state  all  day,  but  he 
wouldn't  go  home.  Your  sister  was  kind  to  him,  it 
seems,  this  afternoon.  When  she  and  her  husband  had 
gone,  he  went  on  with  his  work,  shifting  luggage-vans. 
Well,  he  got  in  the  way,  as  if  he  were  quite  lost  to  what 
was  going  on,  and  they  sent  him  home  at  last.  Then 
he  wished  to  see  me.  I  went  directly.  There  was 
something  on  his  mind,  he  said,  and  told  it.  About 
the  time  when  the  fire  of  last  November  twelvemonth 
was  got  under,  whilst  he  was  by  himself  in  the  porter's 
room,  almost  asleep,  somebody  came  to  the  station  and 
tried  to  open  the  door.  He  went  out  and  found  the 
person  to  be  the  lady  he  had  accompanied  to  Carriford 
earlier  in  the  evening,  Mrs.  Manston.  She  asked,  when 
304 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

would  be  another  train  to  London  ?  The  first  the  next 
morning,  he  told  her,  was  at  a  quarter-past  six  o'clock 
from  Budmouth,  hut  that  it  was  express,  and  didn't 
stop  at  Carriford  Road — it  didn't  stop  till  it  got  to 
Anglebury.  "  How  far  is  it  to  Anglebury  ?  "  she  said. 
He  told  her,  and  she  thanked  him,  and  went  away  up 
the  line.  In  a  short  time  she  ran  back  and  took  out 
her  purse.  "  Don't  on  any  account  say  a  word  in  the 
village  or  anywhere  that  I  have  been  here,  or  a  single 
breath  about  me — I'm  ashamed  ever  to  have  come." 
He  promised  ;  she  took  out  two  sovereigns.  "  Swear  it 
on  the  Testament  in  the  waiting-room,"  she  said,  "and 
I'll  pay  you  these."  He  got  the  book,  took  an  oath 
upon  it,  received  the  money,  and  she  left  him.  He 
was  off  duty  at  half-past  five.  He  has  kept  silence  all 
through  the  intervening  time  till  now,  but  lately  the 
knowledge  he  possessed  weighed  heavily  upon  his  con^ 
science  and  weak  mind.  Yet  the  nearer  came  the 
wedding-day,  the  more  he  feared  to  tell.  The  actual 
marriage  filled  him  with  remorse.  He  says  your  sister's 
kindness  afterwards  was  like  a  knife  going  through  his 
heart.     He  thought  he  had  ruined  her.' 

'  But  whatever  can  be  done  ?  Why  didn't  he  speak 
sooner  ?  '  cried  Owen. 

'  He  actually  called  at  my  house  twice  yesterday,'  the 
rector  continued,  '  resolved,  it  seems,  to  unburden  his 
mind,  I  was  out  both  times — he  left  no  message,  and, 
they  say,  he  looked  relieved  that  his  object  was  de- 
feated. Then  he  says  he  resolved  to  come  to  you  at  the 
Old  House  last  night — started,  reached  the  door,  and 
dreaded  to  knock — and  then  went  home  again.' 

*  Here  will  be  a  tale  for  the  newsmongers  of  the 
county,'  said  Owen  bitterly.  '  The  idea  of  his  not 
opening  his  mouth  sooner — the  criminality  of  the 
thing  ! ' 

'  Ah,  that's  the  inconsistency  of  a  weak  nature.  But 
now  that  it  is  put  to  us  in  this  way,  how  much  more 
305  U 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

probable  it  seems  that  she  should  have  escaped  than 
have  been  burnt ' 

'You  will,  of  course,  go  straight  to  Mr.  Mansion, 
and  ask  him  what  it  all  means  ? '  Edward  interrupted. 

'  Of  course  I  shall !  Manston  has  no  right  to  carry 
off  my  sister  unless  he's  her  husband,'  said  Owen.  '  I 
shall  go  and  separate  them.' 

*  Certainly  you  will,'  said  the  rector. 
'  Where's  the  man  ? ' 

'  In  his  cottage.' 

'  'Tis  no  use  going  to  him,  either.  I  must  go  off  at 
once  and  overtake  them — lay  the  case  before  Manston, 
and  ask  him  for  additional  and  certain  proofs  of  his 
first  wife's  death.     An  up-train  passes  soon,  I  think.' 

*  Where  have  they  gone  ? '  said  Edward. 

'  To  Paris — as  far  as  Southampton  this  afternoon,  to 
proceed  to-morrow  morning.' 

'  Where  in  Southampton  ?  ' 

'  I  really  don't  know — some  hotel.  I  only  have  their 
Paris  address.  But  I  shall  find  them  by  making  a  few 
inquiries.' 

The  rector  had  in  the  meantime  been  taking  out 
his  pocket-book,  and  now  opened  it  at  the  first  page, 
whereon  it  was  his  custom  every  month  to  gum  a  small 
railway  time-table — cut  from  the  local  newspaper. 

'  The  afternoon  express  is  just  gone,'  he  said,  hold- 
ing open  the  page,  'and  the  next  train  to  Southampton 
passes  at  ten  minutes  to  six  o'clock.  Now  it  wants — 
let  me  see — five-and-forty  minutes  to  that  time.  Mr. 
Graye,  my  advice  is  that  you  come  with  me  to  the 
porter's  cottage,  where  I  will  shortly  write  out  the  sub- 
stance of  what  he  has  said,  and  get  him  to  sign  it. 
You  will  then  have  far  better  grounds  for  interfering  be- 
tween Mr.  and  Mrs.  Manston  than  if  you  went  to  them 
with  a  mere  hearsay  story.' 

The  suggestion  seemed  a  good  one.     '  Yes,  there  will 
be  time  before  the  train  starts,'  said  Owen. 
306 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Edward  had  been  musing  restlessly. 

'  Let  me  go  to  Southampton  in  your  place,  on  account 
of  your  lameness  ? '  he  said  suddenly  to  Graye. 

'  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  but  I  think  I  can 
scarcely  accept  the  offer,'  returned  Owen  coldly.  '  Mr. 
Manston  is  an  honourable  man,  and  I  had  much  better 
see  him  myself.' 

'  There  is  no  doubt,'  said  Mr.  Raunham,  '  that  the 
death  of  his  wife  was  fully  believed  in  by  himself.' 

'  None  whatever,'  said  Owen ;  '  and  the  news  must 
be  broken  to  him,  and  the  question  of  other  proofs 
asked,  in  a  friendly  way.  It  would  not  do  for  Mr. 
Springrove  to  appear  in  the  case  at  all.'  He  still  spoke 
rather  coldly ;  the  recollection  of  the  attachment  between 
his  sister  and  Edward  was  not  a  pleasant  one  to  him. 

'  You  will  never  find  them,'  said  Edward.  '  You 
have  never  been  to  Southampton,  and  I  know  every 
house  there.' 

'  That  makes  little  difference,'  said  the  rector ;  '  he 
will  have  a  cab.  Certainly  Mr.  Graye  is  the  proper 
man  to  go  on  the  errand.' 

'  Stay ;  I'll  telegraph  to  ask  them  to  meet  me  when 
I  arrive  at  the  terminus,'  said  Owen ;  '  that  is,  if  their 
train  has  not  already  arrived.' 

Mr.  Raunham  pulled  out  his  pocket-book  again. 
'  The  two-thirty  train  reached  Southampton  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  ago,'  he  said. 

It  was  too  late  to  catch  them  at  the  station.  Never- 
theless, the  rector  suggested  that  it  would  be  w^orth 
while  to  direct  a  message  to  'all  the  respectable  hotels 
in  Southampton,'  on  the  chance  of  its  finding  them,  and 
thus  saving  a  deal  of  personal  labour  to  Owen  in  search- 
ing about  the  place. 

'  I'll  go  and  telegraph,  whilst  you  return  to  the  man,' 
said  Edward — an  offer  which  was  accepted.  Graye  and 
tlie  rector  then  turned  off  in  the  direction  of  the  porter's 
cottage. 

307 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Edward,  to  despatch  the  message  at  once,  hurriedly 
followed  the  road  towards  the  station,-  still  restlessly 
thinking.  All  Owen's  proceedings  were  based  on  the 
assumption,  natural  under  the  circumstances,  of  Man- 
ston's  good  faith,  and  that  he  would  readily  acquiesce 
in  any  arrangement  which  should  clear  up  the  mystery. 
'  But,'  thought  Edward,  '  suppose — and  Heaven  forgive 
me,  I  cannot  help  supposing  it — that  Manston  is  not 
that  honourable  man,  what  will  a  young  and  inexperi- 
enced fellow  like  Owen  do  ?  Will  he  not  be  hood- 
winked by  some  specious  story  or  another,  framed  to 
last  till  Manston  gets  tired  of  poor  Cytherea?  And 
then  the  disclosure  of  the  truth  will  ruin  and  blacken 
both  their  futures  irremediably.' 

However,  he  proceeded  to  execute  his  commission. 
This  he  put  in  the  form  of  a  simple  request  from  Owen 
to  Manston,  that  Manston  would  come  to  the  South- 
ampton platform,  and  wait  for  Owen's  arrival,  as  he 
valued  his  reputation.  The  message  was  directed  as 
the  rector  had  suggested,  Edward  guaranteeing  to  the 
clerk  who  sent  it  off  that  every  expense  connected  with 
the  search  would  be  paid. 

No  sooner  had  the  telegram  been  despatched  than  his 
heart  sank  within  him  at  the  want  of  foresight  shown 
in  sending  it.  Had  Manston,  all  the  time,  a  knowledge 
that  his  first  wife  lived,  the  telegram  would  be  a  fore- 
warning which  might  enable  him  to  defeat  Owen  still 
more  signally. 

Whilst  the  machine  was  still  giving  off  its  multi- 
tudinous series  of  raps,  Edward  heard  a  powerful  rush 
under  the  shed  outside,  followed  by  a  long  sonorous 
creak.  It  was  a  train  of  some  sort,  stealing  softly  into 
the  station,  and  it  was  an  up-train.  There  was  the  ring 
of  a  bell.     It  was  certainly  a  passenger  train. 

Yet  the  booking-office  window  was  closed. 

'  Ho,  ho,  John,  seventeen  minutes  af"ter  time  and 
only  three  stations  up  the  line.  The  incline  again  ? ' 
308 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

The  voice  was  the  stationmaster's,  and  the  reply  seemed 
to  come  from  the  guard. 

'Yes,  the  other  side  of  the  cutting.  The  thaw  has 
made  it  all  in  a  perfect  cloud  of  fog,  and  the  rails  are 
as  slippery  as  glass.  We  had  to  bring  them  through  the 
cutting  at  twice.' 

*  Anybody  else  for  the  four-forty-five  express  ? '  the 
voice  continued.  The  few  passengers,  having  crossed 
over  to  the  other  side  long  before  this  time,  had  taken 
their  places  at  once. 

A  conviction  suddenly  broke  in  upon  Edward's  mind  ; 
then  a  wish  overwhelmed  him.  The  conviction — as 
startling  as  it  was  sudden — was  that  Manston  was  a 
villain,  who  at  some  earlier  time  had  discovered  that  his 
wife  lived,  and  had  bribed  her  to  keep  out  of  sight,  that 
he  might  possess  Cytherea.  The  wish  was — to  proceed  at 
once  by  this  very  train  that  was  starting,  find  Manston 
before  he  would  expect  from  the  words  of  the  telegram 
(if  he  got  it)  that  anybody  from  Carriford  could  be 
with  him — charge  him  boldly  with  the  crime,  and  trust 
to  his  consequent  confusion  (if  he  were  guilty)  for  a 
solution  of  the  extraordinary  riddle,  and  the  release  of 
Cytherea ! 

The  ticket-office  had  been  locked  up  at  the  expiration 
of  the  time  at  which  the  train  was  due.  Rushing  out 
as  the  guard  blew  his  whistle,  Edward  opened  the  door 
of  a  carriage  and  leapt  in.  The  train  moved  along,  and 
he  was  soon  out  of  sight. 

Springrove  had  long  since  passed  that  peculiar  line 
which  lies  across  the  course  of  falling  in  love — if,  indeed, 
it  may  not  be  called  the  initial  itself  of  the  complete 
passion — a  longing  to  cherish ;  when  the  woman  is 
shifted  in  a  man's  mind  from  the  region  of  mere  admira- 
tion to  the  region  of  warm  fellowship.  At  this  assump- 
tion of  her  nature,  she  changes  to  him  in  tone,  hue,  and 
expression.  All  about  the  loved  one  that  said  '  She  ' 
before,  says  '  We '  now.     Eyes  that  were  to  be  subdued 

X  309 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

become  eyes  to  be  feared  for :  a  brain  that  was  to  be 
probed  by  cynicism  becomes  a  brain  that  is  to  be 
tenderly  assisted;  feet  that  were  to  be  tested  in  the 
dance  become  feet  that  are  not  to  be  distressed ;  the 
once-criticized  accent,  manner,  and  dress,  become  the 
cUents  of  a  special  pleader. 


6.  Five  to  Eight  o'clock  p.m. 

Now  that  he  was  fairly  on  the  track,  and  had  begun 
to  cool  down,  Edward  remembered  that  he  had  nothing 
to  show — no  legal  authority  whatever  to  question  Man- 
sion or  interfere  between  him  and  Cytherea  as  husband 
and  wife.  He  now  saw  the  wisdom  of  the  rector  in 
obtaining  a  signed  confession  from  the  porter.  The 
document  would  not  be  a  death-bed  confession — per- 
haps not  worth  anything  legally — but  it  would  be  held 
by  Owen,  and  he  alone,  as  Cytherea's  natural  guardian, 
could  separate  them  on  the  mere  ground  of  an  unproved 
probability,  or  what  might  perhaps  be  called  the  halluci- 
nation of  an  idiot.  Edward  himself,  however,  was  as 
firmly  convinced  as  the  rector  had  been  of  the  truth 
of  the  man's  story,  and  paced  backward  and  forward  the 
solitary  compartment  as  the  train  wound  through  the 
dark  heathery  plains,  the  mazy  woods,  and  moaning 
coppices,  as  resolved  as  ever  to  pounce  on  Manston,  and 
charge  him  with  the  crime  during  the  critical  interval 
between  the  reception  of  the  telegram  and  the  hour  at 
which  Owen's  train  would  arrive — trusting  to  circum- 
stances for  what  he  should  say  and  do  afterwards,  but 
making  up  his  mind  to  be  a  ready  second  to  Owen  in 
any  emergency  that  might  arise. 

At  thirty-three  minutes  past  seven  he  stood  on  the 
platform  of  the  station  at  Southampton — a  clear  hour 
before  the  train  containing  Owen  could  possibly  arrive. 

Making  a  few  inquiries  here,  but  too  impatient  to 
310 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

pursue  his  investigation  carefully  and  inductively,  he 
went  into  the  town. 

At  the  expiration  of  another  half-hour  he  had  visited 
seven  hotels  and  inns,  large  and  small,  asking  the  same 
questions  at  each,  and  always  receiving  the  same  reply — 
nobody  of  that  name,  or  answering  to  that  description, 
had  been  there.  A  boy  from  the  telegraph-office  had 
called,  asking  for  the  same  persons,  if  they  recollected 
rightly. 

He  reflected  awhile,  struck  again  by  a  painful  thought 
that  they  might  possibly  have  decided  to  cross  the 
Channel  by  the  night-boat.  Then  he  hastened  off  to 
another  quarter  of  the  town  to  pursue  his  inquiries 
among  hotels  of  the  more  old-fashioned  and  quiet  class. 
His  stained  and  weary  appearance  obtained  for  him 
but  a  modicum  of  civility  wherever  he  went,  which  made 
his  task  yet  more  difficult.  He  called  at  three  several 
houses  in  this  neighbourhood,  with  the  same  result  as 
before.  He  entered  the  door  of  the  fourth  house  whilst 
the  clock  of  the  nearest  church  was  striking  eight. 

'  Have  a  tall  gentleman  named  Manston,  and  a 
young  wife  arrived  here  this  evening  ? '  he  asked  again, 
in  words  which  had  grown  odd  to  his  ears  from  very 
familiarity. 

'  A  new-married  couple,  did  you  say  ? ' 

*  They  are,  though  I  didn't  say  so.' 

'They  have  taken  a  sitting-room  and  bedroom, 
number  thirteen.' 

'  Are  they  indoors  ? ' 

'  I  don't  know.     Eliza  ! ' 

'Yes,  m'm.' 

'  See  if  number  thirteen  is  in — that  gentleman  and 
his  wife.' 

'  Yes,  m'm.' 

'  Has  any  telegram  come  for  them  ? '  said  Edward, 
when  the  maid  had  gone  on  her  errand. 

•  No — nothing  that  I  know  of 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'Somebody  did  come  and  ask  if  a  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Masters,  or  some  such  name,  were  here  this  evening,' 
said  another  voice  from  the  back  of  the  bar-parlour. 

'  And  did  they  get  the  message  ?  ' 

*  Of  course  they  did  not — they  were  not  here — they 
didn't  come  till  half-an-hour  after  that.  The  man  who 
made  inquiries  left  no  message.  I  told  them  when  they 
came  that  they,  or  a  name  something  like  theirs,  had 
been  asked  for,  but  they  didn't  seem  to  understand  why 
it  should  be,  and  so  the  matter  dropped.' 

The  chambermaid  came  back.  *The  gentleman  is 
not  in,  but  the  lady  is.     Who  shall  I  say  ?  ' 

'  Nobody,'  said  Edward.  For  it  now  became  neces- 
sary to  reflect  upon  his  method  of  proceeding.  His 
object  in  finding  their  whereabouts — apart  from  the 
wish  to  assist  Owen — had  been  to  see  Manston,  ask 
him  flatly  for  an  explanation,  and  confirm  the  request 
of  the  message  in  the  presence  of  Cytherea — so  as  to 
prevent  the  possibility  of  the  steward's  palming  off  a 
story  upon  Cytherea,  or  eluding  her  brother  when  he 
came.  But  here  were  two  important  modifications  of 
the  expected  condition  of  affairs.  The  telegram  had 
not  been  received,  and  Cytherea  was  in  the  house 
alone. 

He  hesitated  as  to  the  propriety  of  intruding  upon 
her  in  Mansion's  absence.  Besides,  the  women  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs  would  see  him — his  intrusion  would 
seem  odd — and  Manston  might  return  at  any  moment. 
He  certainly  might  call,  and  wait  for  Manston  with  the 
accusation  upon  his  tongue,  as  he  had  intended.  But 
it  was  a  doubtful  course.  That  idea  had  been  based 
upon  the  assumption  that  Cytherea  was  not  married. 
If  the  first  wife  were  really  dead  after  all — and  he  felt 
sick  at  the  thought — Cytherea  as  the  steward's  wife 
might  in  after-years — perhaps,  at  once — be  subjected 
to  indignity  and  cruelty  on  account  of  an  old  lover's 
interference  now. 

31a 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Yes,  perhaps  the  announcement  would  come  most 
properly  and  safely  for  her  from  her  brother  Owen,  the 
time  of  whose  arrival  had  almost  expired. 

But,  on  turning  round,  he  saw  that  the  staircase  and 
passage  were  quite  deserted.  He  and  his  errand  had 
as  completely  died  from  the  minds  of  the  attendants  as 
if  they  had  never  been.  There  was  absolutely  nothing 
between  him  and  Cytherea's  presence.  Reason  was 
powerless  now ;  he  must  see  her — right  or  wrong,  fair 
or  unfair  to  Manston — offensive  to  her  brother  or  no. 
His  lips  must  be  the  first  to  tell  the  alarming  story  to 
her.  Who  loved  her  as  he !  He  went  back  lightly 
through  the  hall,  up  the  stairs,  two  at  a  time,  and 
followed  the  corridor  till  he  came  to  the  door  numbered 
thirteen. 

He  knocked  softly  :  nobody  answered. 

There  was  no  time  to  lose  if  he  would  speak  to 
Cytherea  before  Manston  came.  He  turned  the  handle 
of  the  door  and  looked  in.  The  lamp  on  the  table 
burned  low,  and  showed  writing  materials  open  beside 
it ;  the  chief  light  came  from  the  fire,  the  direct  rays  of 
which  were  obscured  by  a  sweet  familiar  outline  of  head 
and  shoulders — still  as  precious  to  him  as  ever. 


7.  A  Quarter-past  Eight  o'clock  p.m. 

There  is  an  attitude — approximatively  called  pensive 
— in  which  the  soul  of  a  human  being,  and  especially 
of  a  woman,  dominates  outwardly  and  expresses  its 
presence  so  strongly,  that  the  intangible  essence  seems 
more  apparent  than  the  body  itself.  This  was  Cytherea's 
expression  now.  What  old  days  and  sunny  eves  at 
Budmouth  Bay  was  she  picturing  ?  Her  reverie  had 
caused  her  not  to  notice  his  knock. 

'  Cytherea  ! '  he  said  softly. 

She  let  drop  her  hand,  and  turned  her  head,  evi- 
313 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

dently  thinking  that  her  visitor  could  be  no  other  than 
Manston,  yet  puzzled  at  the  voice. 

There  was  no  preface  on  Springrove's  tongue;  he 
forgot  his  position — hers — that  he  had  come  to  ask 
quietly  if  Manston  had  other  proofs  of  being  a  widower 
— everything — and  jumped  to  a  conclusion. 

'You  are  not  his  wife,  Cytherea — come  away,  he  has 
a  wife  living  ! '  he  cried  in  an  agitated  whisper,  '  Owen 
will  be  here  directly.' 

She  started  up,  recognized  the  tidings  first,  the 
bearer  of  them  afterwards.  '  Not  his  wife  ?  O,  what 
is  it — what — who  is  living?'  She  awoke  by  degrees. 
'  What  must  I  do  ?  Edward,  it  is  you  !  Why  did  you 
come  ?     Where  is  Owen  ?  ' 

'  What  has  Manston  shown  you  in  proof  of  the  death 
of  his  other  wife  ?     Tell  me  quick.' 

'  Nothing — we  have  never  spoken  of  the  subject. 
Where  is  my  brother  Owen  ?    I  want  him,  I  want  him  ! ' 

*  He  is  coming  by-and-by.  Come  to  the  station  to 
meet  him — do,'  implored  Springrove.  '  If  Mr.  Manston 
comes,  he  will  keep  you  from  me  :  I  am  nobody,'  he 
added  bitterly,  feeling  the  reproach  her  words  had 
faintly  shadowed  forth. 

*  Mr.  Manston  is  only  gone  out  to  post  a  letter  he 
has  just  written,'  she  said,  and  without  being  distinctly 
cognizant  of  the  action,  she  wildly  looked  for  her  bonnet 
and  cloak,  and  began  putting  them  on,  but  in  the  act 
of  fastening  them  uttered  a  spasmodic  cry. 

'  No,  I'll  not  go  out  with  you,'  she  said,  flinging  the 
articles  down  again.  Running  to  the  door  she  flitted 
along  the  passage,  and  downstairs. 

'  Give  me  a  private  room — quite  private,'  she  said 
breathlessly  to  some  one  below. 

'  Number  twelve  is  a  single  room,  madam,  and  un- 
occupied,' said  some  tongue  in  astonishment. 

Without  waiting  for  any  person  to  show  her  into  it, 
Cytherea   hurried   upstairs   again,  brushed   through  the 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

corridor,  entered  the  room  specified,  and  closed  the 
door.     Edward  heard  her  sob  out — 

'  Nobody  but  Owen  shall  speak  to  me — nobody  !  * 

'  He  will  be  here  directly,'  said  Springrove,  close 
against  the  panel,  and  then  went  towards  the  stairs. 
He  had  seen  her ;  it  was  enough. 

He  descended,  stepped  into  the  street,  and  hastened 
to  meet  Owen  at  the  railway-station. 

As  for  the  poor  maiden  who  had  received  the  news, 
she  knew  not  what  to  think.  She  listened  till  the  echo 
of  Edward's  footsteps  had  died  away,  then  bowed  her 
face  upon  the  bed.  Her  sudden  impulse  had  been  to 
escape  from  sight.  Her  weariness  after  the  unwonted 
strain,  mental  and  bodily,  which  had  been  put  upon  her 
by  the  scenes  she  had  passed  through  during  the  long 
day,  rendered  her  much  more  timid  and  shaken  by  her 
position  than  she  would  naturally  have  been.  She 
thought  and  thought  of  that  single  fact  which  had  been 
told  her — that  the  first  Mrs.  Manston  was  still  living — 
till  her  brain  seemed  ready  to  burst  its  confinement  with 
excess  of  throbbing.  It  was  only  natural  that  she  should, 
by  degrees,  be  unable  to  separate  the  discovery,  which 
was  matter  of  fact,  from  the  suspicion  of  treachery  on 
her  husband's  part,  which  was  only  matter  of  inference. 
And  thus  there  arose  in  her  a  personal  fear  of  him. 

'  Suppose  he  should  come  in  now  and  seize  me ! ' 
This  at  first  mere  frenzied  supposition  grew  by  degrees 
to  a  definite  horror  of  his  presence,  and  especially  of 
his  intense  gaze.  Thus  she  raised  herself  to  a  heat  of 
excitement,  which  was  none  the  less  real  for  being 
vented  in  no  cry  of  any  kind.  No ;  she  could  not 
meet  Mansion's  eye  alone,  she  would  only  see  him  in 
her  brother's  company. 

Almost  delirious  with  this  idea,  she  ran  and  locked 
the  door  to  prevent  all  possibility  of  her  intentions  being 
nullified,  or  a  look  or  word  being  flung  at  her  by  any- 
body whilst  she  knew  not  what  she  was. 

315 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


8.  Half-past  Eight  o'clocr  p.m. 

Then  Cytherea  felt  her  way  amid  the  darkness  of  the 
room  till  she  came  to  the  head  of  the  bed,  where  she 
searched  for  the  bell-rope  and  gave  it  a  pull.  Her 
summons  was  speedily  answered  by  the  landlady  herself, 
whose  curiosity  to  know  the  meaning  of  these  strange 
proceedings  knew  no  bounds.  The  landlady  attempted 
to  turn  the  handle  of  the  door.  Cytherea  kept  the  door 
locked.  *  Please  tell  Mr.  Manston  when  he  comes  that 
I  am  ill,'  she  said  from  the  inside,  '  and  that  I  cannot 
see  him.' 

*  Certainly  I  will,  madam,'  said  the  landlady.  *  Won't 
you  have  a  fire  ?  ' 

'  No,  thank  you.* 

'  Nor  a  light  ? ' 

'  I  don't  want  one,  thank  you.' 

'  Nor  anything  ?  ' 

'  Nothing.' 

The  landlady  withdrew,  thinking  her  visitor  half 
insane. 

Manston  came  in  about  five  minutes  later,  and  went 
at  once  up  to  the  sitting-room,  fully  expecting  to  find 
his  wife  there.  He  looked  round,  rang,  and  was  told 
the  words  Cytherea  had  said,  that  she  was  too  ill  to  be 
seen. 

'  She  is  in  number  twelve  room,'  added  the  maid. 

Manston  was  alarmed,  and  knocked  at  the  door. 
'  Cytherea ! ' 

'  I  am  unwell,  I  cannot  see  you,'  she  said. 

'  Are  you  seriously  ill,  dearest  ?     Surely  not.* 

*  No,  not  seriously.' 

'  Let  me  come  in  ;  I  will  get  a  doctor.' 
'  No,  he  can't  see  me  either.' 

'  She  won't  open  the  door,  sir,  not  to  nobody  at  all ! ' 
said  the  chambermaid,  with  wonder-waiting  eyes. 
316 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  Hold  your  tongue,  and  be  ofT! '  said  Mansion  with 
a  snap. 

The  maid  vanished. 

'  Come,  Cytherea,  this  is  foolish — indeed  it  is — not 
opening  the  door.  ...  I  cannot  comprehend  what  can 
be  the  matter  with  you.  Nor  can  a  doctor  either,  unless 
he  sees  you.' 

Her  voice  had  trembled  more  and  more  at  each 
answer  she  gave,  but  nothing  could  induce  her  to  come 
out  and  confront  him.  Hating  scenes,  Manston  went 
back  to  the  sitting-room,  greatly  irritated  and  perplexed. 

And  there  Cytherea  from  the  adjoining  room  could 
hear  him  pacing  up  and  down.  She  thought,  •  Suppose 
he  insists  upon  seeing  me — he  probably  may — and  will 
burst  open  the  door ! '  This  notion  increased,  and  she 
sank  into  a  corner  in  a  half-somnolent  state,  but  with 
ears  alive  to  the  slightest  sound.  Reason  could  not 
overthrow  the  delirious  fancy  that  outside  her  door 
stood  Manston  and  all  the  people  in  the  hotel,  waiting 
to  laugh  her  to  scorn. 


9.  Half-past  Eight  to  Eleven  p.m. 

In  the  meantime,  Springrove  was  pacing  up  and 
down  the  arrival  platform  of  the  railway-station. 

'  Half-past  eight  o'clock — the  time  at  which  Owen's 
train  was  due — had  come,  and  passed,  but  no  train 
appeared. 

'  When  will  the  eight-thirty  train  be  in  ?'  he  asked  of 
a  man  who  was  sweeping  the  mud  from  the  steps. 

'  She  is  not  expected  yet  this  hour.' 

«  How  is  that  ?  ' 

'  Christmas-time,  you  see,  'tis  always  so.  People  are 
running  about  to  see  their  friends.  The  trains  have 
been  like  it  ever  since  Christmas  Eve,  and  will  be  for 
another  week  yet.' 

3^7 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Edward  again  went  on  walking  and  waiting  under 
the  draughty  roof.  He  found  it  utterly  impossible  to 
leave  the  spot.  His  mind  was  so  intent  upon  the  im- 
portance of  meeting  with  Owen,  and  informing  him  of 
Cytherea's  whereabouts,  that  he  could  not  but  fancy 
Owen  might  leave  the  station  unobserved  if  he  turned 
his  back,  and  become  lost  to  him  in  the  streets  of  the 
town. 

The  hour  expired.  Ten  o'clock  struck.  'When 
will  the  train  be  in  ? '  said  Edward  to  the  telegraph 
clerk. 

'  In  five-and-thirty  minutes.     She's  now  at  L . 

They  have  extra  passengers,  and  the  rails  are  bad 
to-day.' 

At  last,  at  a  quarter  to  eleven,  the  train  came  in. 

The  first  to  alight  from  it  was  Owen,  looking  pale 
and  cold.  He  casually  glanced  round  upon  the  nearly 
deserted  platform,  and  was  hurrying  to  the  outlet,  when 
his  eyes  fell  upon  Edward.  At  sight  of  his  friend  he 
was  quite  bewildered,  and  could  not  speak. 

*  Here  I  am,  Mr.  Graye,'  said  Edward  cheerfully. 
<  I  have  seen  Cytherea,  and  she  has  been  waiting  for 
you  these  two  or  three  hours.' 

Owen  took  Edward's  hand,  pressed  it,  and  looked 
at  him  in  silence.  Such  was  the  concentration  of  his 
mind,  that  not  till  many  minutes  after  did  he  think  of 
inquiring  how  Springrove  had  contrived  to  be  there 
before  him. 

lo.  Eleven  o'clock  p.m. 

On  their  arrival  at  the  door  of  the  hotel,  it  was 
arranged  between  Springrove  and  Grayc  that  the  latter 
only  should  enter,  Edward  waiting  outside.  Owen  had 
rememlx'red  continually  what  his  friend  had  frequently 
overlooked,  that  there  was  yet  a  possibility  of  his  sister 
being  Mansion's  wife,  and  the  recollection  taught  him 
318 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

to  avoid  any  rashness  in  his  proceedings  which  might 
lead  to  bitterness  hereafter. 

Entering  the  room,  he  found  Manston  sitting  in 
the  chair  which  had  been  occupied  by  Cytherea  on 
Edward's  visit,  three  hours  earlier.  Before  Owen  had 
spoken,  Manston  arose,  and  stepping  past  him  closed 
the  door.  His  face  appeared  harassed — much  more 
troubled  than  the  slight  circumstance  which  had  as  yet 
come  to  his  knowledge  seemed  to  account  for. 

Manston  could  form  no  reason  for  Owen's  presence, 
but  intuitively  linked  it  with  Cytherea's  seclusion. 
'  Altogether  this  is  most  unseemly,'  he  said,  *  whatever 
it  may  mean.' 

'  Don't  think  there  is  meant  anything  unfriendly  by 
my  coming  here,'  said  Owen  earnestly ;  '  but  listen  to 
this,  and  think  if  I  could  do  otherwise  than  come.' 

He  took  from  his  pocket  the  confession  of  Chinney 
the  porter,  as  hastily  written  out  by  the  vicar,  and  read 
it  aloud.  The  aspects  of  Manston's  face  whilst  he 
listened  to  the  opening  words  were  strange,  dark,  and 
mysterious  enough  to  have  justified  suspicions  that  no 
deceit  could  be  too  complicated  for  the  possessor  of 
such  impulses,  had  there  not  overridden  them  all,  as  the 
reading  went  on,  a  new  and  irrepressible  expression — 
one  unmistakably  honest.  It  was  that  of  unqualified 
amazement  in  the  steward's  mind  at  the  news  he  heard. 
Owen  looked  up  and  saw  it.  The  sight  only  confirmed 
him  in  the  belief  he  had  held  throughout,  in  antagonism 
to  Edward's  suspicions. 

There  could  no  longer  be  a  shadow  of  doubt  that 
if  the  first  Mrs.  Manston  lived,  her  husband  was 
ignorant  of  the  fact.  What  he  could  have  feared  by 
his  ghastly  look  at  first,  and  now  have  ceased  to  feax 
it  was  quite  futile  to  conjecture. 

'  Now  I  do  not  for  a  moment  doubt  your  complete 
ignorance  of  the  whole   matter ;    you   cannot   suppose 
for  an   instant    that    I    do,'    said    Owen   when  he  had 
3*9 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

finished  reading.  '  But  is  it  not  best  for  both  that 
Cytherea  should  come  back  with  me  till  the  matter 
is  cleared  up?  In  fact,  under  the  circumstances,  no 
other  course  is  left  open  to  me  than  to  request  it.' 

Whatever  Mansion's  original  feelings  had  been,  all 
in  him  now  gave  way  to  irritation,  and  irritation  to 
rage.  He  paced  up  and  down  the  room  till  he  had 
mastered  it ;  then  said  in  ordinary  tones — 

•Certainly,  I  know  no  more  than  you  and  others 
know — it  was  a  gratuitous  unpleasantness  in  you  to 
say  you  did  not  doubt  me.  Why  should  you,  or  any- 
body, have  doubted  me  ? ' 

'  Well,  where  is  my  sister  ? '  said  Owen. 

•  Locked  in  the  next  room.* 

His  own  answer  reminded  Manston  that  Cytherea 
must,  by  some  inscrutable  means,  have  had  an  inkling 
of  the  event.         ' 

Owen  had  gone  to  the  door  of  Cytherea's  room. 
'Cytherea,  darling — 'tis  Owen,'  he  said,  outside  the 
door.  A  rustling  of  clothes,  soft  footsteps,  and  a  voice 
saying  from  the  inside,  '  Is  it  really  you,  Owen, — is  it 
really  ? ' 

'  It  is.' 

'  O,  will  you  take  care  of  me  ?  * 

'  Always.' 

She  unlocked  the  door,  and  retreated  again.  Manston 
came  forward  from  the  other  room  with  a  candle  in  his 
hand,  as  Owen  pushed  open  the  door. 

Her  frightened  eyes  were  unnaturally  large,  and  shone 
like  stars  in  the  darkness  of  the  background,  as  the  light 
fell  upon  them.  She  leapt  up  to  Owen  in  one  bound, 
her  small  taper  fingers  extended  like  the  leaves  of  a 
lupine.  Then  she  clasped  her  cold  and  trembling  hands 
round  his  neck  and  shivered. 

The  sight  of  her  again  kindled  all  Mansion's  passions 
into  activity.  'She  shall  not  go  with  you,'  he  said 
firmly,  and  stepping  a  pace  or  two  closer,  '  unless  you 
320 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

prove  that  she  is  not  my  wife;  and  you  can't  do 
it!' 

'  This  is  proof/  said  Owen,  holding  up  the  paper. 

'  No  proof  at  all,'  said  Manston  hotly.  '  'Tis  not  a 
death-bed  confession,  and  those  are  the  only  things  of 
the  kind  held  as  good  evidence.' 

'  Send  for  a  lawyer,'  Owen  returned,  '  and  let  him 
tell  us  the  proper  course  to  adopt.' 

'  Never  mind  the  law — let  me  go  with  Owen  ! '  cried 
Cytherea,  still  holding  on  to  him.  '  You  will  let  me  go 
with  him,  won't  you,  sir  ?  '  she  said,  turning  appealingly 
to  Manston. 

'  We'll  have  it  all  right  and  square,'  said  Manston, 
with  more  quietness.  '  I  have  no  objection  to  your 
brother  sending  for  a  lawyer,  if  he  wants  to.' 

It  was  getting  on  for  twelve  o'clock,  but  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  hotel  had  not  yet  gone  to  bed  on  account 
of  the  mystery  on  the  first  floor,  which  was  an  occurrence 
unusual  in  the  quiet  family  lodging.  Owen  looked  over 
the  banisters,  and  saw  him  standing  in  the  hall.  It 
struck  Graye  that  the  wisest  course  would  be  to  take 
the  landlord  to  a  certain  extent  into  their  confidence, 
appeal  to  his  honour  as  a  gentleman,  and  so  on,  in 
order  to  acquire  the  information  he  wanted,  and  also 
to  prevent  the  episode  of  the  evening  from  becoming 
a  public  piece  of  news.  He  called  the  landlord  up  to 
where  they  stood,  and  told  him  the  main  facts  of  the 
story. 

The  landlord  was  fortunately  a  quiet,  prejudiced  man, 
and  a  meditative  smoker. 

'  I  know  the  very  man  you  want  to  see — the  very 
man,'  he  said,  looking  at  the  general  features  of  the 
candle-flame.  '  Sharp  as  a  needle,  and  not  over-rich. 
Timms  will  put  you  all  straight  in  no  time — trust  Timms 
for  that.' 

'  He's  in  bed  by  this  time  for  certain,'  said 
Owen. 

33X  X 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  Never  mind  that — Timms  knows  me,  I  know  him. 
He'll  oblige  me  as  a  personal  favour.  Wait  here  a  bit. 
Perhaps,  too,  he's  up  at  some  party  or  another — he's 
a  nice,  jovial  fellow,  sharp  as  a  needle,  too ;  mind  you, 
sharp  as  a  needle,  too.' 

He  went  downstairs,  put  on  his  overcoat,  and  left 
the  house,  the  three  persons  most  concerned  entering 
the  room,  and  standing  motionless,  awkward,  and  silent 
in  the  midst  of  it.  Cytherea  pictured  to  herself  the  long 
weary  minutes  she  would  have  to  stand  there,  whilst  a 
sleepy  man  could  be  prepared  for  consultation,  till  the 
constraint  between  them  seemed  unendurable  to  her — 
she  could  never  last  out  the  time.  Owen  was  annoyed 
that  Manston  had  not  quietly  arranged  with  him  at 
once ;  Manston  at  Owen's  homeliness  of  idea  in  pro- 
posing to  send  for  an  attorney,  as  if  he  would  be  a 
touchstone  of  infallible  proof. 

Reflection  was  cut  short  by  the  approach  of  foot- 
steps, and  in  a  few  moments  the  proprietor  of  the 
hotel  entered,  introducing  his  friend.  '  Mr.  Timms 
has  not  been  in  bed,'  he  said;  'he  had  just  returned 
from  dining  with  a  few  friends,  so  there's  no  trouble 
given.  To  save  time  I  explained  the  matter  as  we 
came  along.' 

It  occurred  to  Owen  and  Manston  both  that  they 
might  get  a  misty  exposition  of  the  law  from  Mr. 
Timms  at  that  moment  of  concluding  dinner  with  a 
few  friends. 

'  As  far  as  I  can  see,'  said  the  lawyer,  yawning,  and 
turning  his  vision  inward  by  main  force,  '  it  is  quite  a 
matter  for  private  arrangement  between  the  parties,  who- 
ever the  parties  are — at  least  at  present.  I  speak  more 
as  a  father  than  as  a  lawyer,  it  is  true,  but  let  the  young 
lady  stay  with  her  father,  or  guardian,  safe  out  of  shame's 
way,  until  the  mystery  is  sifted,  whatever  the  mystery  is. 
Should  the  evidence  prove  to  be  false,  or  trumped  up 
by  anybody  to  get  her  away  from  you,  her  husband, 
323 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

you  may  sue  them  for  the  damages  accruing  from  the 
delay.' 

'Yes,  yes,'  said  Manston,  who  had  completely  re- 
covered his  self-possession  and  common-sense ;  '  let  it 
all  be  settled  by  herself.'  Turning  to  Cytherea  he 
whispered  so  softly  that  Owen  did  not  hear  the 
words — 

'  Do  you  wish  to  go  back  with  your  brother,  dearest, 
and  leave  me  here  miserable,  and  lonely,  or  will  you 
stay  with  me,  your  own  husband.' 

'  I'll  go  back  with  Owen.' 

'  Very  well.'  He  relinquished  his  coaxing  tone,  and 
went  on  sternly:  'And  remember  this,  Cytherea,  I  am 
as  innocent  of  deception  in  this  thing  as  you  are  your- 
self.    Do  you  believe  me  ? ' 

'  I  do,'  she  said. 

'  I  had  no  shadow  of  suspicion  that  my  first  wife 
lived.  I  don't  think  she  does  even  now.  Do  you 
believe  me  ? ' 

'  I  believe  you,'  she  said. 

•And  now,  good-evening,'  he  continued,  opening 
the  door  and  poUtely  intimating  to  the  three  men 
standing  by  that  there  was  no  further  necessity  for  their 
remaining  in  his  room.  '  In  three  days  I  shall  claim 
her.' 

The  lawyer  and  the  hotel-keeper  retired  first.  Owen, 
gathering  up  as  much  of  his  sister's  clothing  as  lay 
about  the  room,  took  her  upon  his  arm,  and  followed 
them.  Edward,  to  whom  she  owed  everything,  who 
had  been  left  standing  in  the  street  like  a  dog  with- 
out a  home,  was  utterly  forgotten.  Owen  paid  the 
landlord  and  the  lawyer  for  the  trouble  he  had  occa- 
sioned them,  looked  to  the  packing,  and  went  to  the 
door. 

A    fly,    which    somewhat    unaccountably    was    seen 
lingering  in   front  of  the    house,   was  called   up,  and 
Cytherea's  luggage  put  upon  it. 
323 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'Do  you  know  of  any  hotel  near  the  station  that 
is  open  for  night  arrivals  ? '  Owen  inquired  of  the 
driver. 

'  A  place  has  been  bespoke  for  you,  sir,  at  the 
White  Unicorn — and  the  gentleman  wished  me  to  give 
you  this.' 

*  Bespoken  by  Springrove,  who  ordered  the  fly,  of 
course,'  said  Owen  to  himself.  By  the  light  of  the 
street-lamp  he  read  these  lines,  hurriedly  traced  in 
pencil : — 

*  I  have  gone  home  by  the  mail-train.  It  is  better  for  all  parties 
that  I  should  be  out  of  the  way.  Tell  Cytherea  that  I  apologize  for 
having  caused  her  such  unnecessary  pain;  as  it  seems  I  did — but  it 
cannot  be  helped  now.  E.  S.* 

Owen  handed  his  sister  into  the  vehicle,  and  told 
the  flyman  to  drive  on. 

'  Poor  Springrove — I  think  we  have  served  him 
rather  badly,'  he  said  to  Cytherea,  repeating  the  words 
of  the  note  to  her. 

A  thrill  of  pleasure  passed  through  her  bosom  as  she 
listened  to  them.  They  were  the  genuine  reproach  of  a 
lover  to  his  mistress ;  the  trifling  coldness  of  her  answer 
to  him  would  have  been  noticed  by  no  man  who  was 
only  a  friend.  But,  in  entertaining  that  sweet  thought, 
she  had  forgotten  herself,  and  her  position  for  the 
instant. 

Was  she  still  Manston's  wife — that  was  the  terrible 
supposition,  and  her  future  seemed  still  a  possible 
misery  to  her.  For,  on  account  of  the  late  jarring 
accident,  a  life  with  Mansion  which  would  otherwise 
have  been  only  a  sadness,  must  become  a  burden  of 
unutterable  sorrow. 

Then  she  thought  of  the  misrepresentation  and 
scandal  that  would  ensue  if  she  were  no  wife.  One 
cause  for  thankfulness  accompanied  the  reflection; 
Edward  knew  the  truth. 

324 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

They  soon  reached  the  quiet  old  inn,  which  had 
been  selected  for  them  by  the  forethought  of  the  man 
who  loved  her  well.  Here  they  installed  themselves  for 
the  night,  arranging  to  go  to  Budmouth  by  the  first 
train  the  next  day. 

At  this  hour  Edward  Springrove  was  fast  approaching 
his  native  county  on  the  wheels  of  the  night-maiL 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XIV 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

FIVE  WEEKS 

I.  From  the  Sixth  to  the  Thirteenth  of  January 

JVLaNSTON  had  evidently  resolved  to  do  nothing  in 
a  hurry. 

This  much  was  plain,  that  his  earnest  desire  and 
intention  was  to  raise  in  Cytherea's  bosom  no  feelings 
of  permanent  aversion  to  him.  The  instant  after  the 
first  burst  of  disappointment  had  escaped  him  in  the 
hotel  at  Southampton,  he  had  seen  how  far  better  it 
would  be  to  lose  her  presence  for  a  week  than  her 
respect  for  ever. 

'  She  shall  be  mine ;  I  will  claim  the  young  thing 
yet,'  he  insisted.  And  then  he  seemed  to  reason  over 
methods  for  compassing  that  object,  which,  to  all  those 
who  were  in  any  degree  acquainted  with  the  recent  event, 
appeared  the  least  likely  of  possible  contingencies. 

He  returned  to  Knapwater  late  the  next  day,  and 
was  preparing  to  call  on  Miss  Aldclyffe,  when  the  con- 
clusion forced  itself  upon  him  that  nothing  would  be 
gained  by  such  a  step.  No ;  every  action  of  his  should 
be  done  openly — even  religiously.  At  least,  he  called 
on  the  rector,  and  stated  this  to  be  his  resolve. 
326 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Certainly,'  said  Mr.  Raunham,  '  it  is  best  to  pro- 
ceed candidly  and  fairly,  or  undue  suspicion  may  fall 
on  you.  You  should,  in  my  opinion,  take  active  steps 
at  once.' 

'  I  will  do  the  utmost  that  lies  in  my  power  to  clear 
up  the  mystery,  and  silence  the  hubbub  of  gossip  that 
has  been  set  going  about  me.  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
They  say  that  the  man  who  comes  first  in  the  chain  of 
inquiry  is  not  to  be  found — I  mean  the  porter.' 

'  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  he  is  not.  When  I  returned 
from  the  station  last  night,  after  seeing  Owen  Graye  off, 
I  went  again  to  the  cottage  where  he  has  been  lodging, 
to  get  more  intelligence,  as  I  thought.  He  was  not 
there.  He  had  gone  out  at  dusk,  saying  he  would  be 
back  soon.     But  he  has  not  come  back  yet.' 

'  I  rather  doubt  if  we  shall  see  him  again.' 

'  Had  I  known  of  this,  I  would  have  done  what  in 
my  flurry  I  did  not  think  of  doing — set  a  watch  upon 
him.  But  why  not  advertise  for  your  missing  wife  as  a 
preliminary,  consulting  your  solicitor  in  the  meantime  ? 

*  Advertise.  I'll  think  about  it,'  said  Manston,  linger- 
ing on  the  word  as  he  pronounced  it.  '  Yes,  that  seems 
a  right  thing — quite  a  right  thing.' 

He  went  home  and  remained  moodily  indoors  all 
the  next  day  and  the  next — for  nearly  a  week,  in  short. 
Then,  one  evening  at  dusk,  he  went  out  with  an  un- 
certain air  as  to  the  direction  of  his  walk,  which  resulted, 
however,  in  leading  him  again  to  the  rectory. 

He  saw  Mr.  Raunham.  '  Have  you  done  anything 
yet  ?  '  the  rector  inquired. 

'  No — I  have  not,'  said  Manston  absently.  '  But  I 
am  going  to  set  about  it.'  He  hesitated,  as  if  ashamed 
of  some  weakness  he  was  about  to  betray.  '  My  object 
in  calling  was  to  ask  if  you  had  heard  any  tidings  from 
Budmouth  of  my — Cytherea.  You  used  to  speak  of  her 
as  one  you  were  interested  in.' 

There  was,  at  any  rate,  real  sadness  jn  Mansion's 
327 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

tone  now,  and  the  rector  paused  to  weigh  his  words  ere 
he  replied. 

'  I  have  not  heard  directly  from  her,'  he  said  gently. 
*  But  her  brother  has  communicated  with  some  people 
in  the  parish ' 

'  The  Springroves,  I  suppose,'  said  Manston  gloomily. 

'  Yes ;  and  they  tell  me  that  she  is  very  ill,  and  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  likely  to  be  for  some  days.' 

'  Surely,  surely,  I  must  go  and  see  her ! '  Manston 
cried. 

*  I  would  advise  you  not  to  go,'  said  Raunham.  '  But 
do  this  instead — be  as  quick  as  you  can  in  making  a 
movement  towards  ascertaining  the  truth  as  regards  the 
existence  of  your  wife.  You  see,  Mr.  Manston,  an  out- 
step place  like  this  is  not  like  a  city,  and  there  is  nobody 
to  busy  himself  for  the  good  of  the  community ;  whilst 
poor  Cytherea  and  her  brother  are  socially  too  depen- 
dent to  be  able  to  make  much  stir  in  the  matter,  which 
is  a  greater  reason  still  why  you  should  be  disinterestedly 
prompt.' 

The  steward  murmured  an  assent.  Still  there  was 
the  same  indecision  ! — not  the  indecision  of  weakness — 
the  indecision  of  conscious  perplexity. 

On  Manston's  return  from  this  interview  at  the 
rectory,  he  passed  the  door  of  the  Rising  Sun  Inn. 
Finding  he  had  no  light  for  his  cigar,  and  it  being 
three-quarters  of  a  mile  to  his  residence  in  the  park, 
he  entered  the  tavern  to  get  one.  Nobody  was  in  the 
outer  portion  of  the  front  room  where  Manston  stood, 
but  a  space  round  the  fire  was  screened  off  from  the 
remainder,  and  inside  the  high  oak  settle,  forming  a 
part  of  the  screen,  he  heard  voices  conversing.  The 
speakers  had  not  noticed  his  footsteps,  and  continued 
their  discourse. 

One  of  the  two  he  recognized  as  a  well-known  night- 
poacher,  the  man  who  had  met  him  with  tidings  of  his 
wife's  death  on  the  evening  of  the  conflagration.     The 
328 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

other  seemed  to  be  a  stranger  following  the  same  mode 
of  life.  The  conversation  was  carried  on  in  the  emphatic 
and  confidential  tone  of  men  who  are  slightly  intoxicated, 
its  subject  being  an  unaccountable  experience  that  one 
of  them  had  had  on  the  night  of  the  fire. 

What  the  steward  heard  was  enough,  and  more  than 
enough,  to  lead  him  to  forget  or  to  renounce  his  motive 
in  entering.  The  effect  upon  him  was  strange  and 
strong.  His  first  object  seemed  to  be  to  escape  from 
the  house  again  without  being  seen  or  heard. 

Having  accomplished  this,  he  went  in  at  the  park 
gate,  and  strode  off  under  the  trees  to  the  Old  House. 
There  sitting  down  by  the  fire,  and  burying  himself  in 
reflection,  he  allowed  the  minutes  to  pass  by  unheeded. 
First  the  candle  burnt  down  in  its  socket  and  stunk  : 
he  did  not  notice  it.  Then  the  fire  went  out :  he  did 
not  see  it.     His  feet  grew  cold ;  still  he  thought  on. 

It  may  be  remarked  that  a  Lidy,  a  year  and  a  quarter 
before  this  time,  had,  under  the  same  conditions — an 
unrestricted  mental  absorption — shown  nearly  the  same 
peculiarities  as  this  man  evinced  now.  The  lady  was 
Miss  Aldclyffe. 

It  was  half-past  twelve  when  Manston  moved,  as  if 
he  had  come  to  a  determination. 

The  first  thing  he  did  the  next  morning  was  to  call 
at  Knapwater  House;  where  he  found  that  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe was  not  well  enough  to  see  him.  She  had  been 
ailing  from  slight  internal  haemorrhage  ever  since  the 
confession  of  the  porter  Chinney.  Apparently  not  much 
aggrieved  at  the  denial,  he  shortly  afterwards  went  to 
the  railway-station  and  took  his  departure  for  London, 
leaving  a  letter  for  Miss  Aldclyffe,  stating  the  reason  of 
his  journey  thither — to  recover  traces  of  his  missing 
wife. 

During  the  remainder  of  the  week  paragraphs   ap- 
peared   in    the   local    and    other   newspapers,    drawing 
atterrtion  to  the  facts  of  this  singular  case.     The  writers, 
329 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

with  scarcely  an  exception,  dwelt  forcibly  upon  a  feature 
which  had  at  first  escaped  the  observationi  of  the  villagers, 
including  Mr.  Raunham — that  if  the  announcement  of 
the  man  Chinney  were  true,  it  seemed  extremely  probable 
that  Mrs.  Manston  left  her  watch  and  keys  behind  on 
purpose  to  blind  people  as  to  her  escape;  and  that 
therefore  she  would  not  now  let  herself  be  discovered, 
unless  a  strong  pressure  were  put  upon  her.  The  writers 
added  that  the  police  were  on  the  track  of  the  porter, 
who  very  possibly  had  absconded  in  the  fear  that  his 
reticence  was  criminal,  and  that  Mr.  Manston,  the 
husband,  was,  with  praiseworthy  energy,  making  every 
effort  to  clear  the  whole  matter  up. 


2.  From  the  Eighteenth  to  the  End  of  January 

Five  days  from  the  time  of  his  departure,  Manston 
returned  from  London  and  Liverpool,  looking  very 
fatigued  and  thoughtful.  He  explained  to  the  rector 
and  other  of  his  acquaintance  that  all  the  inquiries  he 
had  made  at  his  wife's  old  lodgings  and  his  own  had 
been  totally  barren  of  results. 

But  he  seemed  inclined  to  push  the  affair  to  a  clear 
conclusion  now  that  he  had  commenced.  After  the 
lapse  of  another  day  or  two  he  proceeded  to  fulfil  his 
promise  to  the  rector,  and  advertised  for  the  missing 
woman  in  three  of  the  London  papers.  The  advertise- 
ment was  a  carefully  considered  and  even  attractive 
effusion,  calculated  to  win  the  heart,  or  at  least  the 
understanding,  of  any  woman  who  had  a  spark  of  her 
own  nature  left  in  her. 

There  was  no  answer. 

Three  days  later  he  repeated  the  experiment;  with 
the  same  result  as  before. 

'  I  cannot  try  any  further,'  said  Manston  speciously 
to  the  rector,  his  sole  auditor  throughout  the  proceedings. 
330 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Mr.  Raunham,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth  plainly :  I  don't 
love  her ;  I  do  love  Cytherea,  and  the  whole  of  this 
business  of  searching  for  the  other  woman  goes  alto- 
gether against  me.  I  hope  to  God  I  shall  never  see 
her  again.' 

'  But  you  will  do  your  duty  at  least  ? '  said  Mr. 
Raunham. 

*  I  have  done  it,'  said  Manston.  '  If  ever  a  man  on 
the  face  of  this  earth  has  done  his  duty  towards  an 
absent  wife,  I  have  towards  her — living  or  dead — at 
least,'  he  added,  correcting  himself,  '  since  I  have  lived 
at  Knapwater.  I  neglected  her  before  that  time — I 
own  that,  as  I  have  owned  it  before.' 

'  I  should,  if  I  were  you,  adopt  other  means  to  get 
tidings  of  her  if  advertising  fails,  in  spite  of  my  feelings,' 
said  the  rector  emphatically.  *  But  at  any  rate,  try 
advertising  once  more.  There's  a  satisfaction  in  having 
made  any  attempt  three  several  times.' 

When  Manston  had  left  the  study,  the  rector  stood 
looking  at  the  fire  for  a  considerable  length  of  time, 
lost  in  profound  reflection.  He  went  to  his  private 
diary,  and  after  many  pauses,  which  he  varied  only  by 
dipping  his  pen,  letting  it  dry,  wiping  it  on  his  sleeve, 
and  then  dipping  it  again,  he  took  the  following  note 
of  events  : — 

'January  25. — Mr.  Manston  has  just  seen  me  for  the  third  time 
on  the  subject  of  his  lost  wife.  There  have  been  these  peculiarities 
attending  the  three  interviews  : — 

'  The  first.  My  visitor,  whilst  expressing  by  words  his  great 
anxiety  to  do  everything  for  her  recovery,  showed  plainly  by  his 
bearing  that  he  was  convinced  he  should  never  see  her  again. 

'  The  second.  He  had  left  off  feigning  anxiety  to  do  rightly  by 
his  first  wife,  and  honestly  asked  after  Cytherea's  welfare. 

'The  third  (and  most  remarkableK  He  seemed  to  have  lost 
all  consistency.  Whilst  expressing  his  love  for  Cytherea  (which 
certainly  is  strong)  and  evincing  the  usual  indifference  to  the  first 
Mrs.  Manston's  fate,  he  was  unable  to  conceal  the  intensity  of  his 
eagerness  for  me  to  advise  him  to  advertise  again  for  her.' 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

A  week  after  the  second,  the  third  advertisement  was 
inserted.  A  paragraph  was  attached,  which  stated  that 
this  would  be  the  last  time  the  announcement  would 
appear. 

3.  The  First  of  February 

At  this,  the  eleventh  hour,  the  postman  brought  a 
letter  for  Manston,  directed  in  a  woman's  hand. 

A  bachelor  friend  of  the  steward's,  Mr.  Dickson  by 
name,  who  was  somewhat  of  a  chatterer — plenus  rimarum 
— and  who  boasted  of  an  endless  string  of  acquaintances, 
had  come  over  from  Casterbridge  the  preceding  day  by 
invitation — an  invitation  which  had  been  a  pleasant 
surprise  to  Dickson  himself,  insomuch  that  Manston,  as 
a  rule,  voted  him  a  bore  almost  to  his  face.  He  had 
stayed  over  the  night,  and  was  sitting  at  breakfast  with 
his  host  when  the  important  missive  arrived. 

Manston  did  not  attempt  to  conceal  the  subject  of 
the  letter,  or  the  name  of  the  writer.  First  glancing  the 
pages  through,  he  read  aloud  as  follows  : — 

'  "  Mv  Husband, — I  implore  your  forgiveness. 

'"During  the  last  thirteen  months  I  have  repeated  to  myself 
a  hundred  times  that  you  should  never  discover  what  I  voluntarily 
tell  you  now,  namely,  that  I  am  alive  and  in  perfect  health. 

'  "  I  have  seen  all  your  advertisements.  Nothing  but  your  per- 
sistence has  won  me  round.  Surely,  I  thought,  he  must  love  me 
still.  Why  else  should  he  try  to  win  back  a  woman  who,  faithful 
unto  death  as  she  will  be,  can,  in  a  social  sense,  aid  him  towards 
acquiring  nothing  ? — rather  the  reverse,  indeed. 

'  "  You  yourself  state  my  own  mind — that  the  only  grounds 
upon  which  we  can  meet  and  live  together,  with  a  reasonable  hope 
of  happiness,  must  be  a  mutual  consent  to  bury  in  oblivion  all  past 
difTcrcnccs,  I  heartily  and  willingly  forget  everything — and  forgive 
everything.     You  will  do  the  same,  as  your  actions  show. 

'  "  There  will  be  plenty  of  opportunity  for  me  to  explain  the  few 
facts  relating  to  my  escape  on  the  night  of  the  fire.  I  will  only 
give  the  heads  in  this  hurried  note.     I   was  grieved  at  your  not 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

coming  to  fetch  me,  more  grieved  at  your  absence  from  the  station, 
most  of  all  by  your  absence  from  home.  On  my  journey  to  the  inn 
I  writhed  under  a  passionate  sense  of  wrong  done  me.  When  I 
had  been  shown  to  my  room  I  waited  and  hoped  for  you  till  the 
landlord  had  gone  upstairs  to  bed.  I  still  found  that  you  did  not 
come,  and  then  I  finally  made  up  my  mind  to  leave.  I  had  half 
undressed,  but  I  put  on  my  things  again,  forgetting  my  watch  (and 
I  suppose  dropping  my  keys,  though  I  am  not  sure  where)  in  my 
hurry,  and  slipped  out  of  the  house.     The "  ' 

'Well,  that's  a  rum  story,'  said  Mr.  Dickson,  inter- 
rupting. 

'  What's  a  rum  story  ? '  said  Mansion  hastily,  and 
flushing  in  the  face. 

*  Forgetting  her  watch  and  dropping  her  keys  in  her 
hurry.' 

'  I  don't  see  anything  particularly  wonderful  in  it. 
Any  woman  might  do  such  a  thing.' 

'  Any  woman  might  if  escaping  from  fire  or  ship- 
wreck, or  any  such  immediate  danger.  But  it  seems 
incomprehensible  to  me  that  any  woman  in  her  senses, 
who  quietly  decides  to  leave  a  house,  should  be  so 
forgetful.' 

'  All  that  is  required  to  reconcile  your  seeming  with 
her  facts  is  to  assume  that  she  was  not  in  her  senses, 
for  that's  what  she  did  plainly,  or  how  could  the  things 
have  been  found  there  ?  Besides,  she's  truthful  enough.' 
He  spoke  eagerly  and  peremptorily. 

'Yes,  yes,  I  know  that.  I  merely  meant  that  it 
seemed  rather  odd.' 

'  O  yes.'     Manston  read  on  : — 

*  " and  slipped  out  of  the  house.     The  rubbish-heap  was 

burning  up  brightly,  but  the  thought  that  the  house  was  in  danger 
did  not  strike  me  ;  I  did  not  consider  that  it  might  be  thatched 

•  "  I  idled  in  the  lane  behind  the  wood  till  the  last  down-train 
had  come  in,  not  being  in  a  mood  to  face  strangers.  Whilst  I  was 
there  the  fire  broke  out,  and  this  perplexed  me  still  more.  How- 
ever, I  was  still  determined  not  to  stay  in  the  place.     I  went  to  the 

333 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

railway-station,  which  was  now  quiet,  and  inquired  of  the  solitary 
man  on  duty  there  concerning  the  trains.  It  was  not  till  I  had  left 
the  man  that  I  saw  the  effect  the  fire  might  have  on  my  history. 
I  considered  also,  though  not  in  any  detailed  manner,  that  the 
event,  by  attracting  the  attention  ofthe  village  to  my  former  abode, 
might  set  people  on  my  track  should  they  doubt  my  death,  and  a 
sudden  dread  of  having  to  go  back  again  to  Knapwater — a  place 
which  had  seemed  inimical  to  me  from  first  to  last — prompted  me 
to  run  back  and  bribe  the  porter  to  secrecy.  I  then  walked  on  to 
Anglebury,  lingering  about  the  outskirts  of  the  town  till  the  morning 
train  came  in,  when  I  proceeded  by  it  to  London,  and  then  took 
these  lodgings,  where  I  have  been  supporting  myself  ever  since  by 
needlework,  endeavouring  to  save  enough  money  to  pay  my  passage 
home  to  America,  but  making  melancholy  progress  in  my  attempt. 
However,  all  that  is  changed — can  I  be  otherwise  than  happy  at 
it  ?  Of  course  not.  I  am  happy.  Tell  me  what  I  am  to  do,  and 
believe  me  still  to  be  your  faithful  wife,  Eunice. 

'  "  My  name  here  is  (as  before) 

*  "  Mrs.  Rondley,  and  my  address, 

79  Addington  Street, 

Lambeth.'" 

The  name  and  address  were  written  on  a  separate 
slip  of  paper. 

'  So  it's  to  be  all  right  at  last  then,'  said  Manston's 
friend.  '  But  after  all  there's  another  woman  in  the 
case.  You  don't  seem  very  sorry  for  the  little  thing 
who  is  put  to  such  distress  by  this  turn  of  affairs  ?  I 
wonder  you  can  let  her  go  so  coolly.' 

The  speaker  was  looking  out  between  the  mullions 
of  the  window — noticing  that  some  of  the  lights  were 
glazed  in  lozenges,  some  in  squares — as  he  said  the 
words,  otherwise  he  would  have  seen  the  passionate 
expression  of  agonized  hopelessness  that  flitted  across 
the  steward's  countenance  when  the  remark  was  made. 
He  did  not  see  it,  and  Manston  answered  after  a  short 
interval.  The  way  in  which  he  spoke  of  the  young  girl 
who  had  believed  herself  his  wife,  whom,  a  few  short 
334 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

days  ago,  he  had  openly  idolized,  and  whom,  in  his 
secret  heart,  he  idolized  still,  as  far  as  such  a  form  of 
love  was  compatible  with  his  nature,  showed  that  from 
policy  or  otherwise,  he  meant  to  act  up  to  the  require- 
ments of  the  position  into  which  fate  appeared  deter- 
mined to  drive  him. 

•  That's  neither  here  nor  there,'  he  said ;  'it  is  a 
point  of  honour  to  do  as  I  am  doing,  and  there's  an 
end  of  it.' 

'  Yes.  Only  I  thought  you  used  not  to  care  over- 
much about  your  first  bargain.' 

'  I  certainly  did  not  at  one  time.  One  is  apt  to  feel 
rather  weary  of  wives  when  they  are  so  devilish  civil 
under  all  aspects,  as  she  used  to  be.  But  anything  for 
a  change — Abigail  is  lost,  but  Michal  is  recovered. 
You  would  hardly  believe  it,  but  she  seems  in  fancy  to 
be  quite  another  bride — in  fact,  almost  as  if  she  had 
really  risen  from  the  dead,  instead  of  having  only  done 
so  virtually.' 

'  You  let  the  young  pink  one  know  that  the  other 
has  come  or  is  coming  ? ' 

'  Cui  bono  ? '  The  steward  meditated  critically,  show- 
ing a  portion  of  his  intensely  wide  and  regular  teeth 
within  the  ruby  lips. 

'  I  cannot  say  anything  to  her  that  will  do  any  good,' 
he  resumed.  '  It  would  be  awkward — either  seeing  or 
communicating  with  her  again.  The  best  plan  to  adopt 
will  be  to  let  matters  take  their  course — she'll  find  it  all 
out  soon  enough.' 

Manston  found  himself  alone  a  few  minutes  later. 
He  buried  his  face  in  his  hands,  and  murmured,  '  O 
my  lost  one  1  O  my  Cytherea !  That  it  should  come 
to  this  is  hard  for  me  !  'Tis  now  all  darkness — "  a 
land  of  darkness  as  darkness  itself ;  and  of  the  shadow 
of  death  without  any  order,  and  where  the  light  is  as 
darkness."' 

Yes,  the  artificial   bearing  which   this  extraordinary 

335 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

man  had  adopted  before  strangers  ever  since  he  had  over- 
heard the  conversation  at  the  inn,  left  him  now,  and  he 
mourned  for  Cytherea  aloud. 


4.  The  Twelfth  of  February 

Knapwater  Park  is  the  picture — at  eleven  o'clock  on 
a  muddy,  quiet,  hazy,  but  bright  morning — a  morning 
without  any  blue  sky,  and  without  any  shadows,  the  earth 
being  enlivened  and  lit  up  rather  by  the  spirit  of  an 
invisible  sun  than  by  its  bodily  presence. 

The  local  Hunt  had  met  for  the  day's  sport  on 
the  open  space  of  ground  immediately  in  front  of  the 
steward's  residence — called  in  the  list  of  appointments, 
*  Old  House,  Knapwater ' — the  meet  being  here  once 
every  season,  for  the  pleasure  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  and 
her  friends. 

Leaning  out  from  one  of  the  first-floor  windows,  and 
surveying  with  the  keenest  interest  the  lively  picture  of 
pink  and  black  coats,  rich-coloured  horses,  and  sparkling 
bits  and  spurs,  was  the  returned  and  long-lost  woman, 
Mrs.  Mansion. 

The  eyes  of  those  forming  the  brilliant  group  were 
occasionally  turned  towards  her,  showing  plainly  that 
her  adventures  were  the  subject  of  conversation  equally 
with  or  more  than  the  chances  of  the  coming  day.  She 
did  not  flush  beneath  their  scrutiny ;  on  the  contrary, 
she  seemed  rather  to  enjoy  it,  her  eyes  being  kindled 
with  a  light  of  contented  exultation,  subdued  to  square 
with  the  circumstances  of  her  matronly  position. 

She  was,  at  the  distance  from  which  they  surveyed 
her,  an  attractive  woman — comely  as  the  tents  of  Kedar. 
But  to  a  close  observer  it  was  palpable  enough  that  God 
did  not  do  all  the  picture.  Appearing  at  least  seven  years 
older  than  Cytherea,  she  was  probably  her  senior  by 
double  the  number,  the  artificial  means  employed  to 
336 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

heighten  the  natural  good  appearance  of  her  face  being 
very  cleverly  applied.  Her  form  was  full  and  round, 
its  voluptuous  maturity  standing  out  in  strong  contrast 
to  the  memory  of  Cytherea's  lissom  girlishness. 

It  seems  to  be  an  almost  universal  rule  that  a  woman 
who  once  has  courted,  or  who  eventually  will  court,  the 
society  of  men  on  terms  dangerous  to  her  honour  cannot 
refrain  from  flinging  the  meaning  glance  whenever  the 
moment  arrives  in  which  the  glance  is  strongly  asked 
for,  even  if  her  life  and  whole  future  depended  upon 
that  moment's  abstinence. 

Had  a  cautious,  uxorious  husband  seen  in  his  wife's 
countenance  what  might  now  have  been  seen  in  this  dark- 
eyed  woman's  as  she  caught  a  stray  glance  of  flirtation 
from  one  or  other  of  the  red-coated  gallants  outside,  he 
would  have  passed  many  days  in  an  agony  of  restless 
jealousy  and  doubt.  But  Manston  was  not  such  a 
husband,  and  he  was,  moreover,  calmly  attending  to  his 
business  at  the  other  end  of  the  manor. 

The  steward  had  fetched  home  his  wife  in  the  most 
matter-of-fact  way  a  few  days  earlier,  walking  round  the 
village  with  her  the  very  next  morning — at  once  putting 
an  end,  by  this  simple  solution,  to  all  the  riddling  in- 
quiries and  surmises  that  were  rank  in  the  village  and 
its  neighbourhood.  Some  men  said  that  this  woman 
was  as  far  inferior  to  Cytherea  as  earth  to  heaven  ;  others, 
older  and  sagcr,  thought  Manston  better  off  with  such 
a  wife  than  he  would  have  been  with  one  of  Cytherea's 
youthful  impulses,  and  inexperience  in  household  manage- 
ment. All  felt  their  curiosity  dying  out  of  them.  It 
was  the  same  in  Carriford  as  in  other  parts  of  the  world 
— immediately  circumstantial  evidence  became  exchanged 
for  direct,  the  loungers  in  court  yawned,  gave  a  final 
survey,  and  turned  away  to  a  subject  which  would  afford 
more  scope  for  speculation. 


337 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XV 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

THREE  WEEKS 

I.  From  the  Twelfth  of  February  to  the 
Second  of  March 

Owen  GRAYE'S  recovery  from  the  illness  that  had 
incapacitated  him  for  so  long  a  time  was,  professionally, 
the  dawn  of  a  brighter  prospect  for  him  in  every  direction, 
though  the  change  was  at  first  very  gradual,  and  his 
movements  and  efforts  were  little  more  than  mechanical. 
With  the  lengthening  of  the  days,  and  the  revival  of  build- 
ing operations  for  the  forthcoming  season,  he  saw  him- 
self, for  the  first  time,  on  a  road  which,  pursued  with  care, 
would  probably  lead  to  a  comfortable  income  at  some 
future  day.     But  he  was  still  very  low  down  the  hill  as  yet. 

The  first  undertaking  entrusted  to  him  in  the  new 
year  began  about  a  month  after  his  return  from  South- 
ampton. Mr.  Gradfield  had  come  back  to  him  in  the 
wake  of  his  restored  health,  and  offered  him  the  super- 
intendence, as  clerk  of  works,  of  a  church  which  was 
to  be  nearly  rebuilt  at  the  village  of  Tolchurch,  fifteen 
or  sixteen  miles  from  Budmouth,  and  about  half  that 
distance  from  Carriford. 

'  I  am  now  being  paid  at  the  rate  of  a  hundred  and 
fifty  pounds  a  year,'  he  said  to  his  sister  in  ^  burst  o( 
338 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

thankfulness,  *  and  you  shall  never,  Cytherea,  be  at  any" 
tyrannous  lady's  beck  and  call  again  as  long  as  I  live. 
Never  pine  or  think  about  what  has  happened,  dear; 
it's  no  disgrace  to  you.  Cheer  up ;  you'll  be  somebody's 
happy  wife  yet.' 

He  did  not  say  Edward  Springrove's,  for,  greatly  to 
his  disappointment,  a  report  had  reached  his  ears  that 
the  friend  to  whom  Cytherea  owed  so  much  had  been 
about  to  pack  up  his  things  and  sail  for  Australia. 
However,  this  was  before  the  uncertainty  concerning 
Mrs.  Manston's  existence  had  been  dispersed  by  her 
return,  a  phenomenon  that  altered  the  cloudy  relation- 
ship in  which  Cytherea  had  lately  been  standing  towards 
her  old  lover,  to  one  of  distinctness ;  which  result  would 
have  been  delightful  but  for  circumstances  about  to  be 
mentioned. 

Cytherea  was  still  pale  from  her  recent  illness,  and 
still  greatly  dejected.  Until  the  news  of  Mrs.  Manston's 
return  had  reached  them,  she  had  kept  herself  closely 
shut  up  during  the  day-time,  never  venturing  forth 
except  at  night.  Sleeping  and  waking  she  had  been  in 
perpetual  dread  lest  she  should  still  be  claimed  by  a 
man  whom,  only  a  few  weeks  earlier,  she  had  regarded 
in  the  light  of  a  future  husband  with  quiet  assent,  not 
unmixed  with  cheerfulness. 

But  the  removal  of  the  uneasinesss  in  this  direction 
— by  Mrs.  Manston's  arrival,  and  her  own  consequent 
freedom — had  been  the  imposition  of  pain  in  another. 
Utterly  fictitious  details  of  the  finding  of  Cytherea  and 
Mansion  had  been  invented  and  circulated,  unavoidably 
reaching  her  ears  in  the  course  of  time.  Thus  the 
freedom  brought  no  happiness,  and  it  seemed  well-nigh 
impossible  that  she  could  ever  again  show  herself  the 
sparkling  creature  she  once  had  been — 

'  Apt  to  entice  a  deity.' 

On  this  account,  and  for  the  first  time  in  his  life, 
339 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Owen  made  a  point  of  concealing  from  her  the  real  state 
of  his  feelings  with  regard  to  the  unhappy  transaction. 
He  writhed  in  secret  under  the  humiliation  to  which 
they  had  been  subjected,  till  the  resentment  it  gave  ris^ 
to,  and  for  which  there  was  no  vent,  was  sometimes 
beyond  endurance;  it  induced  a  mood  that  did  serious 
damage  to  the  material  and  plodding  perseverance  neces- 
sary if  he  would  secure  permanently  the  comforts  of  a 
home  for  them. 

They  gave  up  their  lodgings  at  Budmouth,  and  went 
to  Tolchurch  as  soon  as  the  work  commenced. 

Here  they  were  domiciled  in  one  half  of  an  old  farm- 
house, standing  not  far  from  the  ivy-covered  church 
tower  (which  was  all  that  was  to  remain  of  the  original 
structure).  The  long  steep  roof  of  this  picturesque 
dwelling  sloped  nearly  down  to  the  ground,  the  old  tiles 
that  covered  it  being  overgrown  with  rich  olive-hued 
moss.  New  red  tiles  in  twos  and  threes  had  been  used 
for  patching  the  holes  wrought  by  decay,  lighting  up  the 
whole  harmonious  surface  with  dots  of  brilliant  scarlet. 

The  chief  internal  features  of  this  snug  abode  were  a 
wide  fireplace,  enormous  cupboards,  a  brown  settle,  and 
several  sketches  on  the  wood  mantel,  done  in  outline 
with  the  point  of  a  hot  poker — the  subjects  mainly  con- 
sisting of  old  men  walking  painfully  erect,  with  a  curly- 
tailed  dog  behind. 

After  a  week  or  two  of  residence  in  Tolchurch,  and 
rambles  amid  the  quaint  scenery  circumscribing  it,  a 
tranquillity  began  to  spread  itself  through  the  mind  of 
the  maiden,  which  Graye  hoped  would  be  a  preface  to 
her  complete  restoration.  She  felt  ready  and  willing  to 
live  the  whole  remainder  of  her  days  in  the  retirement 
of  their  present  quarters :  she  began  to  sing  about  the 
house  in  low  tremulous  snatches — 

'  " — I  said,  if  there's  peace  to  be  found  in  the  world, 
A  heart  that  is  humble  may  hope  for  it  here." ' 

340 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


2.  The  Third  of  March 


Her  convalescence  had  arrived  at  this  point  on  a 
certain  evening  towards  the  end  of  the  winter,  when 
Owen  had  come  in  from  the  building  hard  by,  and  was 
changing  his  muddy  boots  for  slippers,  previously  to 
sitting  down  to  toast  and  tea. 

A  prolonged  though  quiet  knocking  came  to  the 
door. 

The  only  person  who  ever  knocked  at  their  door  in 
that  way  was  the  new  vicar,  the  prime  mover  in  the 
church-building.  But  he  was  that  evening  dining  with 
the  Squire. 

Cytherea  was  uneasy  at  the  sound — she  did  not  know 
why,  unless  it  was  because  her  nerves  were  weakened  by 
the  sickness  she  had  undergone.  Instead  of  opening 
the  door  she  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  upstairs. 

'  What  nonsense,  Cytherea  ! '  said  her  brother,  going 
to  the  door. 

Edward  Springrove  stood  in  the  grey  light  outside. 

'  Capital — not  gone  to  Australia,  and  not  going,  of 
course  ! '  cried  Owen.  *  ^Vhat's  the  use  of  going  to  such 
a  pkice  as  that  ? — I  never  believed  that  you  would.' 

'  I  am  going  back  to  London  again  to-morrow,'  said 
Springrove,  'and  I  called  to  say  a  word  before  going. 
Where  is  .  .  .  ?  ' 

'  She  has  just  run  upstairs.  Come  in — never  mind 
scraping  your  shoes — we  are  regular  cottagers  now ;  stone 
floor,  yawning  chimney-corner,  and  all,  you  see.' 

'  Mrs.  Manston  came,'  said  Edward  awkwardly,  when 
he  had  sat  down  in  the  chimney-corner  by  preference. 

'  Yes.'  At  mention  of  one  of  his  skeletons  Owen  lost 
his  blitheness  at  once,  and  fell  into  a  reverie. 

'  The  history  of  her  escape  is  very  simple.' 

'  Very.' 

'  You  know  I  always  had  wondered,  when  my  father 
341 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

was  telling  any  of  the  circumstances  of  the  fire  to  me, 
how  it  could  be  that  a  woman  could  slpep  so  soundly 
as  to  be  unaware  of  her  horrid  position  till  it  was  too 
late  even  to  give  shout  or  sound  of  any  kind.' 

'Well,  I  think  that  would  have  been  possible,  con- 
sidering her  long  wearisome  journey.  People  have  often 
been  suffocated  in  their  beds  before  they  awoke.  But 
it  was  hardly  likely  a  body  would  be  completely  burnt  to 
ashes  as  this  was  assumed  to  be,  though  nobody  seemed 
to  see  it  at  the  time.  And  how  positive  the  surgeon 
was  too,  about  those  bits  of  bone !  Why  he  should 
have  been  so,  nobody  can  tell.  I  cannot  help  saying 
that  if  it  has  ever  been  possible  to  find  pure  stupidity 
incarnate,  it  was  in  that  jury  of  Carriford.  There  existed 
in  the  mass  the  stupidity  of  twelve  and  not  the  penetra- 
tion of  one.' 

*  Is  she  quite  well  ?  '  said  Springrove. 

'  Who  ? — O,  my  sister,  Cytherea.  Thank  you,  nearly 
well,  now.     I'll  call  her.' 

'  Wait  one  minute.     I  have  a  word  to  say  to  you.' 
Owen  sat  down  again. 

*  You  know,  without  my  saying  it,  that  I  love  Cytherea 
as  dearly  as  ever.  ...  I  think  she  loves  me  too, — 
does  she  really  ?  ' 

There  was  in  Owen  enough  of  that  worldly  policy 
on  the  subject  of  matchmaking  which  naturally  resides 
in  the  breasts  of  parents  and  guardians,  to  give  him  a 
certain  caution  in  replying,  and,  younger  as  he  was  by 
five  years  than  Edward,  it  had  an  odd  effect. 

'  Well,  she  may  possibly  love  you  still,'  he  said,  as  if 
rather  in  doubt  as  to  the  truth  of  his  words. 

Springrove's  countenance  instantly  saddened ;  he 
had  expected  a  simple  '  Yes,*  at  the  very  least.  He 
continued  in  a  tone  of  greater  depression — 

'  Supposing  she  does  love  me,  would  it  be  fair  to 
you  and  to  her  if  I  made  her  an  offer  of  marriage,  with 
these  dreary  conditions  attached — that  we  lived  for  a  few 
342 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

years  on  the  narrowest  system,  till  a  great  debt,  which 
all  honour  and  duty  require  me  to  pay  off,  shall  be 
paid  ?  My  father,  by  reason  of  the  misfortune  that 
befell  him,  is  under  a  great  obligation  to  Miss  AldclyfTe. 
He  is  getting  old,  and  losing  his  energies.  I  am  at- 
tempting to  work  free  of  the  burden.  This  makes  my 
prospects  gloomy  enough  at  present.' 

'  But  consider  again,'  he  went  on.  ■  *  Cytherea  has 
been  left  in  a  nameless  and  unsatisfactory,  though  inno- 
cent state,  by  this  unfortunate,  and  now  void,  marriage 
with  Manston.  A  marriage  with  me,  though  under  the 
— materially — untoward  conditions  I  have  mentioned, 
would  make  us  happy ;  it  would  give  her  a  locus  standi. 
If  she  wished  to  be  out  of  the  sound  of  her  misfortunes 
we  would  go  to  another  part  of  England — emigrate — 
do  anything.' 

'  I'll  call  Cytherea,'  said  Owen.  'It  is  a  matter 
which  she  alone  can  settle.'  He  did  not  speak  warmly. 
His  pride  could  not  endure  the  pity  which  Edward's 
visit  and  errand  tacitly  implied.  Yet,  in  the  other  affair, 
his  heart  went  with  Edward ;  he  was  on  the  same  beat 
for  paying  off  old  debts  himself. 

'  Cythie,  Mr.  Springrove  is  here,'  he  said,  at  the  foot 
of  the  staircase. 

His  sister  descended  the  creaking  old  steps  with  a 
faltering  tread,  and  stood  in  the  firelight  from  the  hearth. 
She  extended  her  hand  to  Springrove,  welcoming  him 
by  a  mere  motion  of  the  lip,  her  eyes  averted — a  habit 
which  had  engendered  itself  in  her  since  the  beginning 
of  her  illness  and  defamation.  Owen  opened  the  door 
and  went  out — leaving  the  lovers  alone.  It  was  the 
first  time  they  had  met  since  the  memorable  night  at 
Southampton. 

'  I  will  get  a  light,'  she  said,  with  a  little  embarrass- 
ment. 

'  No — don't,   please,  Cytherea,'  said   Edward  softly. 
*  Come  and  sit  down  with  me.' 
343 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  O  yes.  I  ought  to  have  asked  you  to,'  she  returned 
timidly.  '  Everybody  sits  in  the  chimney-corner  in  this 
parish.     You  sit  on  that  side.     I'll  sit  here.' 

Two  recesses — one  on  the  right,  one  on  the  left 
hand — were  cut  in  the  inside  of  the  fireplace,  and  here 
they  sat  down  facing  each  other,  on  benches  fitted  to 
the  recesses,  the  fire  glowing  on  the  hearth  between 
their  feet.  Its  ruddy  light  shone  on  the  underslopes  of 
their  faces,  and  spread  out  over  the  floor  of  the  room 
with  the  low  horizontality  of  the  setting  sun,  giving  to 
every  grain  of  sand  and  tumour  in  the  paving  a  long 
shadow  towards  the  door. 

Edward  looked  at  his  pale  love  through  the  thin 
azure  twines  of  smoke  that  went  up  like  ringlets  between 
them,  and  invested  her,  as  seen  through  its  medium, 
with  the  shadow7  appearance  of  a  phantom.  Nothing 
is  so  potent  for  coaxing  back  the  lost  eyes  of  a  woman 
as  a  discreet  silence  in  the  man  who  has  so  lost  them — 
and  thus  the  patient  Edward  coaxed  hers.  After  linger- 
ing on  the  hearth  for  half  a  minute,  waiting  in  vain 
for  another  word  from  him,  they  were  lifted  into  his 
face. 

He  was  ready  primed  to  receive  them.  *  Cytherea, 
will  you  marry  me  ? '  he  said. 

He  could  not  wait  in  his  original  position  till  the 
answer  came.  Stepping  across  the  front  of  the  fire  to 
her  own  side  of  the  chimney  corner,  he  reclined  at  her 
feet,  and  searched  for  her  hand.  She  continued  in 
silence  awhile. 

•  Edward,  I  can  never  be  anybody's  wife,'  she  then 
said  sadly,  and  with  firmness. 

'  Think  of  it  in  every  light,'  he  pleaded ;  '  the  light 
of  love,  first.  Then,  when  you  have  done  that,  see  how 
wise  a  step  it  would  be.  I  can  only  offer  you  poverty 
as  yet,  but  I  want — I  do  so  long  to  secure  you  from  the 
intrusion  of  that  unpleasant  past,  which  will  often  and 
always  be  thrust  before  you  as  long  as  you  live  the 
344 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

shrinking  solitary  life  you  do  now — a  life  which  purity 
chooses,  it  may  be ;  but  to  the  outside  world  it  appears 
like  the  enforced  loneliness  of  neglect  and  scorn — and 
tongues  are  busy  inventing  a  reason  for  it  which  does 
not  exist.' 

'  I  know  all  about  it,'  she  said  hastily  ;  *  and  those 
are  the  grounds  of  my  refusal.  You  and  Owen  know 
the  whole  truth — the  two  I  love  best  on  earth — and  I 
am  content.  But  the  scandal  will  be  continually  re- 
peated, and  I  can  never  give  any  one  the  opportunity  of 
saying  to  you — that — your  wife  .  .  .'  She  utterly  broke 
down  and  wept. 

*  Don't,  my  own  darling  ! '  he  entreated.  '  Don't, 
Cytherea ! ' 

'  Please  to  leave  me — we  will  be  friends,  Edward — 
but  don't  press  me — my  mind  is  made  up — I  cannot 
— I  will  not  marry  you  or  any  man  under  the  present 
ambiguous  circumstances — never  will  I — I  have  said  it : 
never  ! ' 

They  were  both  silent.  He  Hstlessly  regarded  the 
illuminated  blackness  overhead,  where  long  flakes  of 
soot  floated  from  the  sides  and  bars  of  the  chimney- 
throat  like  tattered  banners  in  ancient  aisles ;  whilst 
through  the  square  opening  in  the  midst  one  or  two 
bright  stars  looked  down  upon  them  from  the  grey 
March  sky.     The  sight  seemed  to  cheer  him. 

'  At  any  rate  you  will  love  me  ? '  he  murmured  to 
her. 

'  Yes — always — for  ever  and  for  ever ! ' 

He  kissed  her  once,  twice,  three  times,  and  arose  to 
his  feet,  slowly  withdrawing  himself  from  her  side  to- 
wards the  door.  Cytherea  remained  with  her  gaze  fixed 
on  the  fire.  Edward  went  out  grieving,  but  hope  was 
not  extinguished  even  now. 

He  smelt  the  fragrance  of  a  cigar,  and  immediately 
afterwards  saw  a  small  red  star  of  fire  against  the  dark- 
ness of  the  hedge.  Graye  was  pacing  up  and  down  the 
345 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

lane,  smoking  as  he  walked.     Springrove  told  him  the 
result  of  the  interview. 

'  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Edward,'  he  said ;  *  but  I 
think  my  sister  is  right.' 

*  I  wish  you  would  believe  Manston  a  villain,  as  I 
do,'  said  Springrove. 

'  It  would  be  absurd  of  me  to  say  that  I  like  him  now 
— family  feeling  prevents  it,  but  I  cannot  in  honesty  say 
deliberately  that  he  is  a  bad  man.' 

Edward  could  keep  the  secret  of  Manston's  coercion 
of  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  matter  of  the  houses  a  secret  no 
longer.     He  told  Owen  the  whole  story. 

'  That's  one  thing,'  he  continued,  '  but  not  all.  What 
do  you  think  of  this — I  have  discovered  that  he  went 
to  Budmouth  post-office  for  a  letter  the  day  before  the 
first  advertisement  for  his  wife  appeared  in  the  papers. 
One  was  there  for  him,  and  it  was  directed  in  his  wife's 
handwriting,  as  I  can  prove.  This  was  not  till  after  the 
marriage  with  Cytherea,  it  is  true,  but  if  (as  it  seems  to 
show)  the  advertising  was  a  farce,  there  is  a  strong  pre- 
sumption that  the  rest  of  the  piece  was.' 

Owen  was  too  astounded  to  speak.  He  dropped  his 
cigar,  and  fixed  his  eyes  upon  his  companion. 

*  Collusion  ! ' 
'  Yes.' 

'  With  his  first  wife  ?  ' 

'  Yes — with  his  wife.     I  am  firmly  persuaded  of  it.' 

'  What  did  you  discover  ?  ' 

*  That  he  fetched  from  the  post-office  at  Budmouth 
a  letter  from  her  the  day  before  the  first  advertisement 
appeared.' 

Graye  was  lost  in  a  long  consideration.  '  Ah  ! '  he 
said,  '  it  would  be  difficult  to  prove  anything  of  that  sort 
now.  The  writing  could  not  be  sworn  to,  and  if  he  is 
guilty  the  letter  is  destroyed.' 

*  I  have  other  suspicions ' 

'  Yes — as  you  said,'  interrupted  Owen,  who  had  not 
346 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

till  now  been  able  to  form  the  complicated  set  of  ideas 
necessary  for  picturing  the  position.  '  Yes,  there  is  this 
to  be  remembered — Cytherea  had  been  taken  from  him 
before  that  letter  came — and  his  knowledge  of  his  wife's 
existence  could  not  have  originated  till  after  the  wedding. 
I  could  have  sworn  he  believed  her  dead  then.  His 
manner  was  unmistakable.' 

'  Well,  I  have  other  suspicions,'  repeated  Edward ; 
*  and  if  I  only  had  the  right — if  I  were  her  husband  or 
brother,  he  should  be  convicted  of  bigamy  yet.' 

'  The  reproof  was  not  needed,'  said  Owen,  with 
a  Uttle  bitterness.  '  What  can  I  do — a  man  with 
neither  money  nor  friends — whilst  Manston  has  Miss 
Aldclyffe  and  all  her  fortune  to  back  him  up  ?  God 
only  knows  what  lies  between  the  mistress  and  her 
steward,  but  since  this  has  transpired — if  it  is  true — I 
can  believe  the  connection  to  be  even  an  unworthy  one 
— a  thing  I  certainly  never  so  much  as  owned  to  myself 
before.' 

3.  The  Fifth  of  March 

Edward's  disclosure  had  the  effect  of  directing  Owen 
Graye's  thoughts  into  an  entirely  new  and  uncommon 
channel. 

On  the  Monday  after  Springrove's  visit,  Owen  had 
walked  to  the  top  of  a  hill  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Tolchurch — a  wild  hill  that  had  no  name,  beside  a 
barren  down  where  it  never  looked  like  summer.  In  the 
intensity  of  his  meditations  on  the  ever-present  subject, 
he  sat  down  on  a  weather-beaten  boundary-stone  gazing 
towards  the  distant  valleys  —  seeing  only  Manston's 
imagined  form. 

Had   his  defenceless   sister  been  trifled  with  ?  that 

was  the  question  which  affected  him.     Her  refusal  of 

Edward  as   a  husband  was,   he   knew,  dictated   solely 

by  a  humiliated  sense  of  inadequacy  to  him  in  repute, 

347 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

and  had  not  been  formed  till  since  the  slanderous  tale 
accounting  for  her  seclusion  had  been  circulated.  Was 
it  not  true,  as  Edward  had  hinted,  that  he,  her  brother, 
was  neglecting  his  duty  towards  her  in  allowing  Manston 
to  thrive  unquestioned,  whilst  she  was  hiding  her  head 
for  no  fault  at  all  ? 

Was  it  possible  that  Manston  was  sensuous  villain 
enough  to  have  contemplated,  at  any  moment  before  the 
marriage  with  Cytherea,  the  return  of  his  first  wife,  when 
he  should  have  grown  weary  of  his  new  toy  ?  Had  he 
believed  that,  by  a  skilful  manipulation  of  such  circum- 
stances as  chance  would  throw  in  his  way,  he  could 
escape  all  suspicion  of  having  known  that  she  lived  ? 
Only  one  fact  within  his  own  direct  knowledge  afforded 
the  least  ground  for  such  a  supposition.  It  was  that, 
possessed  by  a  woman  only  in  the  humble  and  unpro- 
tected station  of  a  lady's  hired  companion,  his  sister's 
beauty  might  scarcely  have  been  sufficient  to  induce  a 
selfish  man  like  Manston  to  make  her  his  wife,  unless 
he  had  foreseen  the  possibility  of  getting  rid  of  her 
again. 

*  But  for  that  stratagem  of  Manston's  in  relation  to 
the  Springroves,'  Owen  thought,  *  Cythie  might  now 
have  been  the  happy  wife  of  Edward.  True,  that  he 
influenced  Miss  Aldclyffe  only  rests  on  Edward's  sus- 
picions, but  the  grounds  are  good — the  probability  is 
strong.' 

He  went  indoors  and  questioned  Cytherea. 

'  On  the  night  of  the  fire,  who  first  said  that  Mrs. 
Manston  was  burnt  ? '  he  asked. 

'  I  don't  know  who  started  the  report.' 

'  Was  it  Manston  ?  ' 

'  It  was  certainly  not  he.  All  doubt  on  the  subject 
was  removed  before  he  came  to  the  spot — that  I  am 
certain  of.  Everybody  knew  that  she  did  not  escape 
after  the  house  was  on  fire,  and  thus  all  overlooked  the 
fact  that  she  might  have  left  before — of  course  that 
348 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

would  have  seemed  such  an  improbable  thing  for  any- 
body to  do.' 

*  Yes,  until  the  porter's  story  of  her  irritation  and 
doubt  as  to  her  course  made  it  natural.' 

'What  settled  the  matter  at  the  inquest,'  said 
Cytherea,  '  was  Mr.  Manston's  evidence  that  the  watch 
was  his  wife's.' 

'  He  was  sure  of  that,  wasn't  he  ?  ' 

'  I  believe  he  said  he  was  certain  of  it.' 

'  It  might  have  been  hers — left  behind  in  her  pertur- 
bation, as  they  say  it  was — impossible  as  that  seems 
at  first  sight.  Yes — on  the  whole,  he  might  have 
believed  in  her  death.' 

'  I  know  by  several  proofs  that  then,  and  at  least  for 
some  time  after,  he  had  no  other  thought  than  that  she 
was  dead.  I  now  think  that  before  the  porter's  confes- 
sion he  knew  something  about  her — though  not  that 
she  lived.' 

*  Why  do  you  ? ' 

'  From  what  he  said  to  me  on  the  evening  of  the 
wedding-day,  when  I  had  fastened  myself  in  the  room  at 
the  hotel,  after  Edward's  visit.  He  must  have  suspected 
that  I  knew  something,  for  he  was  irritated,  and  in  a 
passion  of  uneasy  doubt.  He  said,  "  You  don't  suppose 
my  first  wife  is  come  to  light  again,  madam,  surely  ?  " 
Directly  he  had  let  the  remark  slip  out,  he  seemed 
anxious  to  withdraw  it.' 

'  That's  odd,'  said  Owen. 

'  I  thought  it  very  odd.' 

'  Still  we  must  remember  he  might  only  have  hit 
upon  the  thought  by  accident,  in  doubt  as  to  your 
motive.  Yes,  the  great  point  to  discover  remains  the 
same  as  ever — did  he  doubt  his  first  impression  of  her 
death  before  he  married  you.  I  can't  help  thinking  he 
did,  although  he  was  so  astounded  at  our  news  that 
night.     Edward  swears  he  did.' 

'  It  was  perhaps  only  a  short  time  before,'  said 
349 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Cytherea;  'when  he  could  hardly  recede  from  having 
me.' 

'  Seasoning  justice  w'ith  mercy  as  usual,  Cytherea. 
'Tis  unfair  to  yourself  to  talk  like  that.  If  I  could  only 
bring  him  to  ruin  as  a  bigamist — supposing  him  to  be 
one — I  should  die  happy.  That's  what  we  must  find 
out  by  fair  means  or  foul — was  he  a  wilful  bigamist  ? ' 

'  It  is  no  use  trying,  Owen.  You  would  have  to 
employ  a  soUcitor,  and  how  can  you  do  that  ? ' 

*  I  can't  at  all — I  know  that  very  well.  But  neither 
do  I  altogether  wish  to  at  present — a  lawyer  must  have 
a  case — facts  to  go  upon,  that  means.  Now  they  are 
scarce  at  present — as  scarce  as  money  is  with  us,  and 
till  we  have  found  more  money  there  is  no  hurry  for  a 
lawyer.  Perhaps  by  the  time  we  have  the  facts  we  shall 
have  the  money.  The  only  thing  we  lose  in  working 
alone  in  this  way,  is  time — not  the  issue :  for  the  fruit 
that  one  mind  matures  in  a  twelvemonth  forms  a  more 
perfectly  organized  whole  than  that  of  twelve  minds  in 
one  month,  especially  if  the  interests  of  the  single  one 
are  vitally  concerned,  and  those  of  the  twelve  are  only 
hired.  But  there  is  not  only  my  mind  available — you 
are  a  shrewd  woman,  Cythie,  and  Edward  is  an  earnest 
ally.  Then,  if  we  really  get  a  sure  footing  for  a  criminal 
prosecution,  the  Crown  will  take  up  the  case.' 

*  I  don't  much  care  to  press  on  in  the  matter,'  she 
murmured.     '  What  good  can  it  do  us,  Owen,  after  all  ?  ' 

'  Selfishly  speaking,  it  will  do  this  good — that  all 
the  facts  of  your  journey  to  Southampton  will  become 
known,  and  the  scandal  will  die.  Besides,  Manston 
will  have  to  suffer — it's  an  act  of  justice  to  you  and  to 
other  women,  and  to  Edward  Springrove.' 

He  now  thought  it  necessary  to  tell  her  of  the  real 
nature  of  the  Springroves'  obligation  to  Miss  Aldclyffe 
— and  their  nearly  certain  knowledge  that  Manston  was 
the  prime  mover  in  affecting  their  embarrassment.  Her 
face  flushed  as  she  listened. 

35° 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  And  now,'  he  said,  '  our  first  undertaking  is  to  find 
out  where  Mrs.  Manston  Uved  during  the  separation ; 
next,  when  the  first  communications  passed  between 
them  after  the  fire.' 

'  If  we  only  had  Miss  Aldclyffe's  countenance  and 
assistance  as  I  used  to  have  them,'  Cytherea  returned, 
'  how  strong  we  should  be !  O,  what  power  is  it  that 
he  exercises  over  her,  swaying  her  just  as  he  wishes  ! 
She  loves  me  now.  Mrs.  Morris  in  her  letter  said  that 
Miss  Aldclyffe  prayed  for  me — yes,  she  heard  her  pray- 
ing for  me,  and  crying.  Miss  Aldclyffe  did  not  mind 
an  old  friend  like  Mrs.  Morris  knowing  it,  either.  Yet 
in  opposition  to  this,  notice  her  dead  silence  and  in- 
action throughout  this  proceeding.' 

'  It  is  a  mystery ;  but  never  mind  that  now,'  said 
Owen  impressively.  '  About  where  Mrs.  Manston  has 
been  living.  We  must  get  this  part  of  it  first — learn 
the  place  of  her  stay  in  the  early  stage  of  their  separa- 
tion, during  the  period  of  Mansion's  arrival  here,  and 
so  on,  for  that  was  where  she  was  first  communicated 
with  on  the  subject  of  coming  to  Knapwater,  before  the 
fire;  and  that  address,  too,  was  her  point  of  departure 
when  she  came  to  her  husband  by  stealth  in  the  night 
— you  know — the  time  I  visited  you  in  the  evening  and 
went  home  early  in  the  morning,  and  it  was  found  that 
he  had  been  visited  too.  Ah  !  couldn't  we  inquire  of 
Mrs.  Leat,  who  keeps  the  post-oflfice  at  Carriford,  if 
she  remembers  where  the  letters  to  Mrs.  Manston  were 
directed  ? ' 

'  He  never  posted  his  letters  to  her  in  the  parish — 
it  was  remarked  at  the  time.  I  was  thinking  if  some- 
thing relating  to  her  address  might  not  be  found  in 
the  report  of  the  inquest  in  the  Casterbridge  Chronicle 
.  of  the  date.  Some  facts  about  the  inquest  were  given 
in  the  papers  to  a  certainty.' 

Her  brother  caught  eagerly  at  the  suggestion.  '  Who 
has  a  file  of  the  Chronicles  7  '  he  said. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  Mr.  Raunham  used  to  file  them,'  said  Cytherea. 
'  He  was  rather  firiendly-disposed  towards  me,  too.' 

Owen  could  not,  on  any  consideration,  escape  from 
his  attendance  at  the  church -building  till  Saturday 
evening;  and  thus  it  became  necessary,  unless  they 
actually  wasted  time,  that  Cytherea  herself  should  assist. 
*  I  act  under  your  orders,  Owen,'  she  said. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


XVI 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

ONE  WEEK 

\.  March  the  Sixth 

The  next  morning  the  opening  move  of  the  game 
was  made.  Cytherea,  under  cover  of  a  thick  veil,  hired 
a  conveyance  and  drove  to  within  a  mile  or  so  of 
Carriford.  It  was  with  a  renewed  sense  of  depres- 
sion that  she  saw  again  the  objects  which  had  become 
familiar  to  her  eye  during  her  sojourn  under  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe's  roof — the  outline  of  the  hills,  the  meadow 
streams,  the  old  park  trees.  She  hastened  by  a  lonely 
path  to  the  rectory-house,  and  asked  if  Mr,  Raunham 
was  at  home. 

Now  the  rector,  though  a  solitary  bachelor,  was  as 
gallant  and  courteous  to  womankind  as  an  ancient 
Iberian ;  and,  moreover,  he  was  Cytherea's  friend  in 
particular,  to  an  extent  far  greater  than  she  had  ever 
surmised.  Rarely  visiting  his  relative,  Miss  Aldclyffe, 
except  on  parish  matters,  more  rarely  still  being  called 
upon  by  Miss  Aldclyffe,  Cytherea  had  learnt  very  little 
of  him  whilst  she  lived  at  Knapwater.  The  relation- 
ship was  on  the  impecunious  paternal  side,  and  for  this 
branch  of  her  family  the  lady  of  the  estate  had  never 
353  z 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

evinced  much  sympathy.  In  looking  back  upon  our 
hne  of  descent  it  is  an  instinct  with  u.s  to  feel  that  all 
our  vitality  was  drawn  from  the  richer  party  to  any 
unequal  marriage  in  the  chain. 

Since  the  death  of  the  old  captain,  the  rector's  bearing 
in  Knapwater  House  had  been  almost  that  of  a  stranger, 
a  circumstance  which  he  himself  was  the  last  man  in  the 
world  to  regret.  This  polite  indifference  was  so  frigid 
on  both  sides  that  the  rector  did  not  concern  himself  to 
preach  at  her,  which  was  a  great  deal  in  a  rector;  and 
she  did  not  take  the  trouble  to  think  his  sermons  poor 
stuff,  which  in  a  cynical  woman  was  a  great  deal  more. 

Though  barely  fifty  years  of  age,  his  hair  was  as 
white  as  snow,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  redness 
of  his  skin,  which  was  as  fresh  and  healthy  as  a  lad's. 
Cytherea's  bright  eyes,  mutely  and  demurely  glancing 
up  at  him  Sunday  after  Sunday,  had  been  the  means 
of  driving  away  many  of  the  saturnine  humours  that 
creep  into  an  empty  heart  during  the  hours  of  a  solitary 
life ;  in  this  case,  however,  to  supplant  them,  when  she 
left  his  parish,  by  those  others  of  a  more  aching  nature 
which  accompany  an  over-full  one.  In  short,  he  had 
been  on  the  verge  of  feeling  towards  her  that  passion 
to  which  his  dignified  self-respect  would  not  give  its  true 
name,  even  in  the  privacy  of  his  own  thought. 

He  received  her  kindly ;  but  she  was  not  disposed 
to  be  frank  with  him.  He  saw  lier  wish  to  be  reserved, 
and  with  genuine  good  taste  and  good  nature  made  no 
comment  whatever  upon  her  request  to  be  allowed  to 
see  the  Chronicle  for  the  year  before  the  last.  He  placed 
the  papers  before  her  on  his  study  table,  with  a  timidity 
as  great  as  her  own,  and  then  left  her  entirely  to  herself. 

She  turned  them  over  till  she  came  to  the  first 
heading  connected  with  the  subject  of  her  search — 
'  Disastrous  F'ire  and  Loss  of  Life  at  Carriford.' 

The  sight,  and  its  calamitous  bearing  upon  her  own 
life,  made  her  so  dizzy  that  she  could,  for  a  while,  hardly 
354 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

decipher  the  letters.  Stifling  recollection  by  an  effoit, 
she  nerved  herself  to  her  work,  and  carefully  read  the 
column.  The  account  reminded  her  of  no  other  fact 
than  was  remembered  already. 

She  turned  on  to  the  following  week's  report  of  the 
inquest.  After  a  miserable  perusal  she  could  find  no 
more  pertaining  to  Mrs.  Manston's  address  than  this: — 

'  Abraham  Brown,  of  Hoxton,  London,  at  whose  house  the 
deceased  woman  had  been  living,  deposed,'  &c. 

Nobody  else  from  London  had  attended  the  inquest. 

She  arose  to  depart,  first  sending  a  message  of  thanks 
to  Mr.  Raunham,  who  was  out  of  doors  gardening. 

He  stuck  his  spade  into  the  ground,  and  accompanied 
her  to  the  gate. 

'  Can  I  help  you  in  anything,  Cytherea  ? '  he  said, 
using  her  Christian  name  by  an  intuition  that  unpleasant 
memories  might  be  revived  if  he  called  her  Miss  Graye 
after  wishing  her  good-bye  as  Mrs.  Manston  at  the 
wedding.  Cytherea  saw  the  motive  and  appreciated  it, 
nevertheless  replying  evasively — 

'  I  only  guess  and  fear.' 

He  earnestly  looked  at  her  again. 

'  Promise  me  that  if  you  want  assistance,  and  you 
think  I  can  give  it,  you  will  come  to  me.' 

'  I  will,'  she  said. 

The  gate  closed  between  them. 

'  You  don't  want  me  to  help  you  in  anything  now, 
Cytherea  ? '  he  repeated. 

If  he  had  spoken  what  he  felt,  '  I  want  very  much  to 
help  you,  Cytherea,  and  have  been  watching  Manston 
on  your  account,'  she  would  gladly  have  accepted  his 
offer.  As  it  was,  she  was  perplexed,  and  raised  her 
eyes  to  his,  not  so  fearlessly  as  before  her  trouble,  but 
as  modestly,  and  with  still  enough  brightness  in  them 
to  do  fearful  execution  as  she  said  over  the  gate — 

'  No,  thank  you.' 

355 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

She  returned  to  Tolchurch  weary  with  her  day's  work. 
Owen's  greeting  was  anxious — 

'  Well,  Cytherea  ? ' 

She  gave  him  the  words  from  the  report  of  the  inquest, 
pencilled  on  a  slip  of  paper. 

'  Now  to  find  out  the  name  of  the  street  and  number,' 
Owen  remarked. 

'  Owen,'  she  said,  '  will  you  forgive  me  for  what  I  am 
going  to  say?  I  don't  think  I  can — indeed  I  don't 
think  I  can — take  any  further  steps  towards  disen- 
tangling the  mystery.  I  still  think  it  a  useless  task, 
and  it  does  not  seem  any  duty  of  mine  to  be  revenged 
upon  Mr.  Manston  in  any  way.'  She  added  more 
gravely,  '  It  is  beneath  my  dignity  as  a  woman  to  labour 
for  this ;  I  have  felt  it  so  all  day.' 

'  Very  well,'  he  said,  somewhat  shortly ;  '  I  shall  work 
without  you  then.  There's  dignity  in  justice.'  He 
caught  sight  of  her  pale  tired  face,  and  the  dilated  eye 
which  always  appeared  in  her  with  weariness.  '  Darling,' 
he  continued  warmly,  and  kissing  her,  'you  shall  not 
work  so  hard  again — you  are  worn  out  quite.  But  you 
must  let  me  do  as  I  like.' 


2.  March  the  Tenth 

On  Saturday  evening  Graye  hurried  off  to  Caster- 
bridge,  and  called  at  the  house  of  the  reporter  to  the 
Chronicle.  The  reporter  was  at  home,  and  came  out  to 
Graye  in  the  passage.  Owen  explained  who  and  what 
he  was,  and  asked  the  man  if  he  would  oblige  him 
by  turning  to  his  notes  of  the  inquest  at  Carriford 
in  the  December  of  the  year  preceding  the  last — just 
adding  that  a  family  entanglement,  of  which  the  re- 
porter prohalily  knew  something,  made  him  anxious  to 
ascertain  some  additional  details  of  the  event,  if  any 
existed. 

356 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  Certainly,'  said  the  other,  without  hesitation ;  '  though 
I  am  afraid  I  haven't  much  beyond  what  we  printed  at 
the  time.  Let  me  see — my  old  note-books  are  in  my 
drawer  at  the  office  of  the  paper  :  if  you  will  come  with 
me  I  can  refer  to  them  there.'  His  wife  and  family 
were  at  tea  inside  the  room,  and  with  the  timidity 
of  decent  poverty  everywhere  he  seemed  glad  to  get  a 
stranger  out  of  his  domestic  groove. 

They  crossed  the  street,  entered  the  office,  and  went 
thence  to  an  inner  room.  Here,  after  a  short  search, 
was  found  the  book  required.  The  precise  address,  not 
given  in  the  condensed  report  that  was  printed,  but 
written  down  by  the  reporter,  was  as  follows  : — 

•Abraham  Brown, 

lodging-house  keeper, 

41  Charles  Square, 

HOXTON.' 

Owen  copied  it,  and  gave  the  reporter  a  small  fee. 
'  I  want  to  keep  this  inquiry  private  for  the  present,'  he 
said  hesitatingly.  'You  will  perhaps  understand  why, 
and  oblige  me.' 

The  reporter  promised.  'News  is  shop  with  me,' 
he  said,  '  and  to  escape  from  handling  it  is  my  greatest 
social  enjoyment.' 

It  was  evening,  and  the  outer  room  of  the  publishing- 
office  was  lighted  up  with  flaring  jets  of  gas.  After 
making  the  above  remark,  the  reporter  came  out  from 
the  inner  apartment  in  Graye's  company,  answering  an 
expression  of  obhgation  from  Owen  with  the  words  that 
it  was  no  trouble.  At  the  moment  of  his  speech,  he 
closed  behind  him  the  door  between  the  two  rooms,  still 
holding  his  note-book  in  his  hand. 

Before  the  counter  of  the  front  room  stood  a  tall 
man,  who  was  also  speaking,  when  they  emerged.  He 
said  to  the  youth  in  attendance,  '  I  will  take  my  paper 

"*  357 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

for  this  week  now  I  am  here,  so  that  you  needn't  post  it 
to  me.'  i 

The  stranger  then  slightly  turned  his  head,  saw  Owen, 
and  recognized  him.  Owen  passed  out  without  recog- 
nizing the  other  as  Manston. 

Manston  then  looked  at  the  reporter,  who,  after 
walking  to  the  door  with  Owen,  had  come  back  again 
to  lock  up  his  books.  Manston  did  not  need  to  be  told 
that  the  shabby  marble-covered  book  w-hich  he  held  in 
his  hand,  opening  endways  and  interleaved  with  blotting- 
paper,  was  an  old  reporting-book.  He  raised  his  eyes 
to  the  reporter's  face,  whose  experience  had  not  so 
schooled  his  features  but  that  they  betrayed  a  conscious- 
ness, to  one  half  initiated  as  the  other  was,  that  his  late 
proceeding  had  been  connected  with  events  in  the  life  of 
the  steward.  Manston  said  no  more,  but,  taking  his  news- 
paper, followed  Owen  from  the  office,  and  disappeared 
in  the  gloom  of  the  street. 

Edward  Springrove  was  now  in  London  again,  and 
on  this  same  evening,  before  leaving  Casterbridge,  Owen 
wrote  a  careful  letter  to  him,  stating  therein  all  the  facts 
that  had  come  to  his  knowledge,  and  begging  him,  as 
he  valued  Cytherea,  to  make  cautious  inquiries.  A  tall 
man  was  standing  under  the  lamp-post,  about  half-a- 
dozen  yards  above  the  post-office,  when  he  dropped  the 
letter  into  the  box. 

That  same  night,  too,  for  a  reason  connected  with 
the  rencounter  with  Owen  Graye,  the  steward  entertained 
the  idea  of  rushing  off  suddenly  to  London  by  the  mail- 
train,  which  left  Casterbridge  at  ten  o'clock.  But  re- 
membering that  letters  posted  after  the  hour  at  which 
Owen  had  obtained  his  information — whatever  that 
was — could  not  be  delivered  in  London  till  Monday 
morning,  he  changed  his  mind  and  went  home  to  Knap- 
water.  Making  a  confidential  explanation  to  his  wife, 
arrangements  were  set  on  foot  for  his  departure  by  the 
mail  on  Sunday  night. 

3S8 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


3.  March  the  Eleventh 

Starting  for  church  the  next  morning  several  minutes 
earlier  than  was  usual  with  him,  the  steward  intentionally 
loitered  along  the  road  from  the  village  till  old  Mr. 
Springrove  overtook  him.  Manston  spoke  very  civilly 
of  the  morning,  and  of  the  weather,  asking  how  the 
farmer's  barometer  stood,  and  when  it  was  probable  that 
the  wind  might  change.  It  was  not  in  Mr.  Springrove's 
nature — going  to  church  as  he  was,  too — to  return 
anything  but  a  civil  answer  to  such  civil  questions, 
however  his  feelings  might  have  been  biassed  by  late 
events.  The  conversation  was  continued  on  terms  of 
greater  friendliness. 

'  You  must  be  feeling  settled  again  by  this  time,  Mr. 
Springrove,  after  the  rough  turn-out  you  had  on  that 
terrible  night  in  November.' 

'  Ay,  but  I  don't  know  about  feeling  settled,  either, 
Mr.  Manston.  The  old  window  in  the  chimney-corner 
of  the  old  house  I  shall  never  forget.  No  window 
in  the  chimney-corner  where  I  am  now,  and  I  had 
been  used  to  it  for  more  than  fifty  years.  Ted  says 
'tis  a  great  loss  to  me,  and  he  knows  exactly  what  I 
feel.' 

*  Your  son  is  again  in  a  good  situation,  I  believe  ? ' 
said  Manston,  imitating  that  inquisitiveness  into  the 
private  affairs  of  the  natives  which  passes  for  high 
breeding  in  country  villages. 

'  Yes,  sir.  I  hope  he'll  keep  it,  or  do  something 
else  and  stick  to  it.' 

'  'Tis  to  be  hoped  he'll  be  steady  now.' 

'  He's  always  been  that,  I  assure  'ee,'  said  the  old 
man  tartly. 

'Yes — yes — I  mean  intellectually  steady.  Intellec- 
tual wild  oats  will  thrive  in  a  soil  of  the  strictest 
morality.' 

359 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'Intellectual  gingerbread!  Ted's  steady  enough — 
that's  all  I  know  about  it.' 

'Of  course — of  course.  Has  he  respectable  lodg- 
ings ?  My  own  experience  has  shown  me  that  that's  a 
great  thing  to  a  young  man  living  alone  in  London.' 

'  Warwick  Street,  Charing  Cross— that's  where  he  is.' 

'  Well,  to  be  sure — strange !  A  very  dear  friend  of 
mine  used  to  live  at  number  fifty-two  in  that  very  same 
street.' 

*  Edward  lives  at  number  forty-nine — how  very  near 
being  the  same  house  ! '  said  the  old  farmer,  pleased  in 
spite  of  himself. 

'Very,'  said  Mansion.  'Well,  I  suppose  we  had 
better  step  along  a  little  quicker,  Mr.  Springrove;  the 
parson's  bell  has  just  begun.' 

'  Number  forty-nine,'  he  murmured. 


4.  March  the  Twelfth 

Edward  received  Owen's  letter  in  due  time,  but  on 
account  of  his  daily  engagements  he  could  not  attend  to 
any  request  till  the  clock  had  struck  five  in  the  after- 
noon. Rushing  then  from  his  ofifice  in  Westminster, 
he  called  a  hansom  and  proceeded  to  Hoxton.  A 
few  minutes  later  he  knocked  at  the  door  of  number 
forty-one,  Charles  Square,  the  old  lodging  of  Mrs. 
Manston. 

A  tall  man  who  would  have  looked  extremely  hand- 
some had  he  not  been  clumsily  and  closely  wrapped  up 
in  garments  that  were  much  too  elderly  in  style  for  his 
years,  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  quiet  square  at  the 
same  instant,  having,  too,  alighted  from  a  cab,  that  had 
been  driven  along  Old  Street  in  Edward's  rear.  He 
smiled  confidently  when  Springrove  knocked. 

Nobody  came  to  the  door.  Springrove  knocked 
again, 

360 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

This  brought  out  two  people — one  at  the  door  he 
had  been  knocking  upon,  the  other  from  the  next  on 
the  right. 

'  Is  Mr.  Brown  at  home  ?  '  said  Springrove. 

*  No,  sir.' 

'  When  will  he  be  in  ?  ' 

*  Quite  uncertain.' 

'  Can  you  tell  me  where  I  may  find  him  ? ' 

'  No.  O,  here  he  is  coming,  sir.  That's  Mr. 
Brown.' 

Edward  looked  down  the  pavement  in  the  direction 
pointed  out  by  the  woman,  and  saw  a  man  approaching. 
He  proceeded  a  few  steps  to  meet  him. 

Edward  was  impatient,  and  to  a  certain  extent  still 
a  countryman,  who  had  not,  after  the  manner  of  city 
men,  subdued  the  natural  impulse  to  speak  out  the 
ruling  thought  without  preface.  He  said  in  a  quiet 
tone  to  the  stranger,  *  One  word  with  you — do  you 
remember  a  lady  lodger  of  yours  of  the  name  of  Mrs. 
Manston  ?  ' 

Mr.  Brown  half  closed  his  eyes  at  Springrove,  some- 
what as  if  he  were  looking  into  a  telescope  at  the 
wrong  end. 

'  I  have  never  let  lodgings  in  my  life,'  he  said,  after 
his  survey. 

'  Didn't  you  attend  an  inquest  a  year  and  a  half  ago, 
at  Carriford  ?  ' 

*  Never  knew  there  was  such  a  place  in  the  world, 
sir;  and  as  to  lodgings,  I  have  taken  acres  first  and 
last  during  the  last  thirty  years,  but  I  have  never  let 
an  inch.' 

'  I  suppose  there  is  some  mistake,'  Edward  mur- 
mured, and  turned  away.  He  and  Mr.  Brown  were  now 
opposite  the  door  next  to  the  one  he  had  knocked  at. 
The  woman  who  was  still  standing  there  had  heard  the 
inquiry  and  the  result  of  it. 

'  I  expect  it  is  the  other  Mr.  Brown,  who  used  to  live 
361 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

there,  that  you  want,  sir,'  she  said.     '  The  Mr.  Brown 
that  was  inquired  for  the  other  day  ?  '        - 

'  Very  Ukely  that  is  the  man,'  said  Edward,  his 
interest  reawakening. 

'  He  couldn't  make  a  do  of  lodging-letting  here,  and 
at  last  he  went  to  Cornwall,  where  he  came  from,  and 
where  his  brother  still  lived,  who  had  often  asked  him 
to  come  home  again.  But  there  was  little  luck  in  the 
change;  for  after  London  they  say  he  couldn't  stand 
the  rainy  west  winds  they  get  there,  and  he  died  in  the 
December  following.     Will  you  step  into  the  passage  ? ' 

*  That's  unfortunate,'  said  Edward,  going  in.  '  But 
perhaps  you  remember  a  Mrs.  Mansion  living  next  door 
to  you  ? ' 

'  O  yes,'  said  the  landlady,  closing  the  door.  '  The 
lady  who  was  supposed  to  have  met  with  such  a  horrible 
fate,  and  was  alive  all  the  time.  '  I  saw  her  the  other 
day.' 

'  Since  the  fire  at  Carriford  ? ' 

'  Yes.  Her  husband  came  to  ask  if  Mr.  Brown  was 
still  living  here — ^just  as  you  might.  He  seemed  anxious 
about  it ;  and  then  one  evening,  a  week  or  fortnight 
afterwards,  when  he  came  again  to  make  further  in- 
quiries, she  was  with  him.  But  I  did  not  speak  to  her 
— she  stood  back,  as  if  she  were  shy.  I  was  interested, 
however,  for  old  Mr.  Brown  had  told  me  all  about  her 
when  he  came  back  from  the  inquest.' 

'  Did  you  know  Mrs.  Manston  before  she  called  the 
other  day  ? ' 

'  No.  You  see  she  was  only  Mr.  Brown's  lodger  for 
two  or  three  weeks,  and  I  didn't  know  she  was  living 
there  till  she  was  near  upon  leaving  again — we  don't 
notice  next-door  people  much  here  in  London.  I  much 
regretted  I  had  not  known  her  when  I  heard  what  had 
happened.  It  led  me  and  Mr.  Brown  to  talk  about  her 
a  great  deal  afterwards.  I  little  thought  I  should  see 
her  alive  after  all.' 

362 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  And  when  do  you  say  they  came  here  together  ? ' 

*  I  don't  exactly  remember  the  day — though  I  re- 
member a  very  beautiful  dream  I  had  that  same  night 
— ah,  I  shall  never  forget  it !  Shoals  of  lodgers  coming 
along  the  square  with  angels'  wings  and  bright  golden 
sovereigns  in  their  hands  wanting  apartments  at  West- 
End  prices.  They  would  not  give  any  less  ;  no,  not  if 
you ' 

'Yes.  Did  Mrs.  Manston  leave  anything,  such  as 
papers,  when  she  left  these  lodgings  originally  ?  '  said 
Edward,  though  his  heart  sank  as  he  asked.  He  felt 
that  he  was  outwitted.  Manston  and  his  wife  had  been 
there  before  him,  clearing  the  ground  of  all  traces. 

'  I  have  always  said  "  No "  hitherto,'  replied  the 
woman,  '  considering  I  could  say  no  more  if  put  upon 
my  oath,  as  I  expected  to  be.  But  speaking  in  a 
common  everyday  way  now  the  occurrence  is  past,  I 
believe  a  few  things  of  some  kind  (though  I  doubt  if 
they  were  papers)  were  left  in  a  workbox  she  had,  be- 
cause she  talked  about  it  to  Mr.  Brown,  and  was  rather 
angry  at  what  occurred — you  see,  she  had  a  temper  by 
all  account,  and  so  I  didn't  like  to  remind  the  lady  of 
this  workbox  when  she  came  the  other  day  with  her 
husband.' 

*  And  about  the  workbox  ? ' 

'  Well,  from  what  was  casually  drop{)ed,  I  think  Mrs. 
Manston  had  a  few  articles  of  furniture  she  didn't  want, 
and  when  she  was  leaving  they  were  put  in  a  sale  just 
by.  Amongst  her  things  were  two  workboxes  very  much 
alike.  One  of  these  she  intended  to  sell,  the  other  she 
didn't,  and  Mr.  Brown,  who  collected  the  things  to- 
gether, took  the  wrong  one  to  the  sale.' 

'  What  was  in  it  ?  ' 

'  O,  nothing  in   particular,  or   of  any  value — some 

accounts,    and    her   usual   sewing    materials  I   think — 

nothing  more.     She  didn't  take  much  trouble  to  get  it 

back — she  said  the  bills  were  worth  nothing  to  her  or 

3^S 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

anybody  else,  but  that  she  should  have  liked  to  keep 
the  box  because  her  husband  gave  it  her  when  they 
were  first  married,  and  if  he  found  she  had  parted  with 
it,  he  would  be  vexed.' 

*  Did  Mrs.  Manston,  when  she  called  recently  with 
her  husband,  allude  to  this,  or  inquire  for  it,  or  did  Mr. 
Manston  ? ' 

'  No — and  I  rather  wondered  at  it.  But  she  seemed 
to  have  forgotten  it — indeed,  she  didn't  make  any 
inquiry  at  all,  only  standing  behind  him,  listening  to 
his;  and  he  probably  had  never  been  told  anything 
about  it.' 

*  Whose  sale  were  these  articles  of  hers  taken  to  ?  ' 
'Who    was    the   auctioneer?       Mr.    Halway.       His 

place  is  the  third  turning  from  the  end  of  that  street 
you  see  there.  Anybody  will  tell  you  the  shop — his 
name  is  written  up.' 

Edward  went  off  to  follow  up  his  clue  with  a  prompt- 
ness which  was  dictated  more  by  a  dogged  will  to  do 
his  utmost  than  by  a  hope  of  doing  much.  When  he 
was  out  of  sight,  the  tall  and  cloaked  man,  who  had 
watched  him,  came  up  to  the  woman's  door,  with  an 
appearance  of  being  in  breathless  haste. 

'  Has  a  gentleman  been  here  inquiring  about  Mrs. 
Manston  ? ' 

'  Yes ;  he's  just  gone.' 

'  Dear  me  !  I  want  him.' 

*  He's  gone  to  Mr.  Halway's.' 

'  I  think  I  can  give  him  some  information  upon  the 
subject.     Does  he  pay  pretty  liberally  ?  ' 

'  He  gave  me  half-a-crown.' 

'  That  scale  will  do.  I'm  a  poor  man,  and  will  see 
what  my  little  contribution  to  his  knowledge  will  fetch. 
But,  by  the  way,  perhaps  you  told  him  all  I  know — 
where  she  lived  before  coming  to  live  here?' 

*  I  didn't  know  where  she  lived  before  coming  here. 
O  no — I  only  said  what  Mr.  Brown  had  told  me.     He 

364 


■DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

seemed  a  nice,  gentle  young  man,  or  I  shouldn't  have 
been  so  open  as  I  was.' 

•  I  shall  now  about  catch  him  at  Mr.  Halway's,'  said 
the  man,  and  went  away  as  hastily  as  he  had  come. 

Edward  in  the  meantime  had  reached  the  auction- 
room.  He  found  some  difficulty,  on  account  of  the 
inertness  of  those  whose  only  inducement  to  an  action 
is  a  mere  wish  from  another,  in  getting  the  information 
he  stood  in  need  of,  but  it  was  at  last  accorded  him. 
The  auctioneer's  book  gave  the  name  of  Mrs.  Higgins, 
3  Canley  Passage,  as  the  purchaser  of  the  lot  which 
had  included  Mrs.  Manston's  workbox. 

Thither  Edward  went,  followed  by  the  man.  Four 
bell-pulls,  one  above  the  other  like  waistcoat-buttons, 
appeared  on  the  door-post.  Edward  seized  the  first  he 
came  to. 

'  Who  did  you  woant  ?  '  said  a  thin  voice  from  some- 
where. 

Edward  looked  above  and  around  him ;  nobody  was 
visible. 

'  Who  did  you  woant  ?  '  said  the  thin  voice  again. 

He  found  now  that  the  sound  proceeded  from  below 
the  grating  covering  the  basement  window.  He  dropped 
his  glance  through  the  bars,  and  saw  a  child's  white 
face. 

'  Who  did  you  woant  ? '  said  the  voice  the  third  time, 
with  precisely  the  same  languid  inflection. 

'  Mrs.  Higgins,'  said  Edward. 

'  Third  bell  up,'  said  the  face,  and  disappeared. 

He  pulled  the  third  bell  from  the  bottom,  and  was 
admitted  by  another  child,  the  daughter  of  the  woman 
he  was  in  search  of  He  gave  the  Httle  thing  sixpence, 
and  asked  for  her  mamma.     The  child  led  him  upstairs. 

Mrs.  Higgins  was  the  wife  of  a  carpenter  who  from 

want  of  employment  one  winter  had  decided  to  marry. 

Afterwards    they   both    took    to    drink,   and   sank   into 

desperate  circumstances.     A  few  chairs  and  a  table  were 

365 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  chief  articles  of  furniture  in  the  third-floor  back 
room  which  they  occupied.  A  roll  of  baby-linen  lay  on 
the  floor ;  beside  it  a  pap-clogged  spoon  and  an  over- 
turned tin  pap-cup.  Against  the  wall  a  Dutch  clock 
was  fixed  out  of  level,  and  ticked  wildly  in  longs  and 
shorts,  its  entrails  hanging  down  beneath  its  white  face 
and  wiry  hands,  like  the  faeces  of  a  Harpy  ('  foedissima 
ventris  proluvies,  uncaeque  manus,  et  pallida  semper 
ora ').  A  baby  was  crying  against  every  chair-leg,  the 
whole  family  of  six  or  seven  being  small  enough  to  be 
covered  by  a  washing-tub.  Mrs.  Higgins  sat  helpless, 
clothed  in  a  dress  which  had  hooks  and  eyes  in  plenty, 
but  never  one  opposite  the  other,  thereby  rendering  the 
dress  almost  useless  as  a  screen  to  the  bosom.  No 
workbox  was  visible  anywhere. 

It  was  a  depressing  picture  of  married  life  among 
the  very  poor  of  a  city.  Only  for  one  short  hour  in  the 
whole  twenty-four  did  husband  and  wife  taste  genuine 
happiness.  It  was  in  the  evening,  when,  after  the  sale 
of  some  necessary  article  of  furniture,  they  were  under 
the  influence  of  a  quartern  of  gin. 

Of  all  the  ingenious  and  cruel  satires  that  from  the 
beginning  till  now  have  been  stuck  like  knives  into 
womankind,  surely  there  is  not  one  so  lacerating  to 
them,  and  to  us  who  love  them,  as  the  trite  old  fact, 
that  the  most  wretched  of  men  can,  in  the  twinkling  of 
an  eye,  find  a  wife  ready  to  be  more  wretched  still  for 
the  sake  of  his  company. 

Edward  hastened  to  despatch  his  errand. 

Mrs.  Higgins  had  lately  pawned  the  worklx>x  with 
other  useless  articles  of  lumber,  she  said.  Edward 
bought  the  duplicate  of  her,  and  went  downstairs  to  the 
pawnbroker's. 

In   the    back   division   of  a   musty  shop,   amid   the 
heterogeneous  collection  of  articles  and  odours   invari- 
ably crowding  such  places,  he  produced  his  ticket,  and 
with  a  sense  of  satisfaction  out  of  all  proportion  to  the 
366 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

probable  worth  of  his  acquisition,  took  the  box  and 
carried  it  off  under  his  arm.  He  attempted  to  lift  the 
cover  as  he  walked,  but  found  it  locked. 

It  was  dusk  when  Springrove  reached  his  lodging. 
Entering  his  small  sitting-room,  the  front  apartment  on 
the  ground  floor,  he  struck  a  light,  and  proceeded  to 
learn  if  any  scrap  or  mark  within  or  upon  his  purchase 
rendered  it  of  moment  to  the  business  in  hand.  Break- 
ing open  the  cover  with  a  small  chisel,  and  lifting  the 
tray,  he  glanced  eagerly  beneath,  and  found — nothing. 

He  next  discovered  that  a  pocket  or  portfolio  was 
formed  on  the  underside  of  the  cover.  This  he  unfastened, 
and  slipping  his  hand  within,  found  that  it  really  con- 
tained some  substance.  First  he  pulled  out  about  a 
dozen  tangled  silk  and  cotton  threads.  Under  them 
were  a  short  household  account,  a  dry  moss-rosebud, 
and  an  old  pair  of  carte- de-visite  photographs.  One  of 
these  was  a  likeness  of  Mrs.  Mansion — '  Eunice  '  being 
written  under  it  in  ink — the  other  of  Manston  himself. 

He  sat  down  dispirited.  This  was  all  the  fruit  of 
his  task — not  a  single  letter,  date,  or  address  of  any 
kind  to  help  him — and  was  it  likely  there  would  be  ? 

However,  thinking  he  would  send  the  fragments,  such 
as  they  were,  to  Graye,  in  order  to  satisfy  him  that  he  had 
done  his  best  so  far,  he  scribbled  a  line,  and  put  all 
except  the  silk  and  cotton  into  an  envelope.  Looking 
at  his  watch,  he  found  it  was  then  twenty  minutes  to 
seven ;  by  affixing  an  extra  stamp  he  would  be  enabled 
to  despatch  them  by  that  evening's  post.  He  hastily 
directed  the  packet,  and  ran  with  it  at  once  to  the  post- 
office  at  Charing  Cross. 

On  his  return  he  took  up  the  workbox  again  to 
examine  it  more  leisurely.  He  then  found  there  was 
also  a  small  cavity  in  the  tray  under  the  pincushion, 
which  was  movable  by  a  bit  of  ribbon.  Lifting  this  he 
uncovered  a  flattened  sprig  of  myrtle,  and  a  small  scrap 
of  crumpled  paper.  The  paper  contained  a  verse  or 
367 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

two  in  a  man's  handwriting.  He  recognized  it  as 
Manston's,  having  seen  notes  and  bills  from  him  at  his 
father's  house.  The  stanza  was  of  a  complimentary 
character,  descriptive  of  the  lady  who  was  now  Manston's 
wife. 

'  EUNICE. 

•  Whoso  for  hours  or  lengthy  days 
Shall  catch  her  aspect's  changeful  rays, 
Then  turn  away,  can  none  recall 
Beyond  a  galaxy  of  all 

In  hazy  portraiture ; 
Lit  by  the  light  of  azure  eyes 
Like  summer  days  by  summer  skies  : 
Her  sweet  transitions  seem  to  be 
A  kind  of  pictured  melody, 

And  not  a  set  contour. 

'JE.  M.' 

To  shake,  pull,  and  ransack  the  box  till  he  had 
almost  destroyed  it  was  now  his  natural  action.  But  it 
contained  absolutely  nothing  more. 

'  Disappointed  again,'  he  said,  flinging  down  the  box, 
the  bit  of  paper,  and  the  withered  twig  that  had  lain 
with  it. 

Yet  valueless  as  the  new  acquisition  was,  on  second 
thoughts  he  considered  that  it  would  be  worth  while  to 
make  good  the  statement  in  his  late  note  to  Graye — that 
he  had  sent  everything  the  box  contained  except  the 
sewing-thread.  Thereupon  he  enclosed  the  verse  and 
myrtle-twig  in  another  envelope,  with  a  remark  that  he 
had  overlooked  them  in  his  first  search,  and  pot  it  on 
the  table  for  the  next  day's  post. 

In  his  hurry  and  concentration  upon  the  matter  that 
occupied  him,  Springrove,  on  entering  his  lodging  and 
obtaining  a  light,  had  not  waited  to  pull  down  the  blind 
or  close  the  shutters.  Consequently  all  that  he  had 
done  had  been  visible  from  the  street.  But  as  on  an 
average  not  one  person  a  minute  passed  along  the  quiet 
368 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

pavement  at  this  time  of  the  evening,  the  discovery  of 
the  omission  did  not  much  concern  his  mind. 

But  the  real  state  of  the  case  was  that  a  tall  man  had 
stood  against  the  opposite  wall  and  watched  the  whole 
of  his  proceeding.  When  Edward  came  out  and  went 
to  the  Charing  Cross  post-office,  the  man  followed  him 
and  saw  him  drop  the  letter  into  the  box.  The  stranger 
did  not  further  trouble  himself  to  follow  Springrove 
back  to  his  lodging  again. 

Manston  now  knew  that  there  had  been  photographs 
of  some  kind  in  his  wife's  workbox,  and  though  he  had 
not  been  near  enough  to  see  them,  he  guessed  whose 
they  were.  The  least  reflection  told  him  to  whom  they 
had  been  sent. 

He  paused  a  minute  under  the  portico  of  the  post- 
office,  looking  at  the  two  or  three  omnibuses  stopping 
and  starting  in  front  of  him.  Then  he  rushed  along 
the  Strand,  through  Holywell  Street,  and  on  to  Old 
Boswell  Court.  Kicking  aside  the  shoeblacks  who  began 
to  importune  him  as  he  passed  under  the  colonnade, 
he  turned  up  the  narrow  passage  to  the  publishing- 
office  of  the  Post-Office  Directory.  He  begged  to  be 
allowed  to  see  the  Directory  of  the  south-west  counties 
of  England  for  a  moment. 

The  shopman  immediately  handed  down  the  volume 
from  a  shelf,  and  Manston  retired  with  it  to  the  window- 
bench.  He  turned  to  the  county,  and  then  to  the 
parish  of  Tolchurch.  At  the  end  of  the  historical  and 
topographical  description  of  the  village  he  read  : — 

*  Postmistress — Mrs.  Hurston.  Letters  received  at  6.30  A.M.  by 
foot-post  from  Anglebur)'.' 

Returning  his  thanks,  he  handed  back  the  book  and 
quitted  the  office,  thence  pursuing  his  way  to  an  obscure 
coffee-house  by  the  Strand,  where  he  now  partook  of  a 
light  dinner.  But  rest  seemed  impossible  with  him. 
Some  absorbing  intention  kept  his  body  continually  on 
369  9  A 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  move.  He  paid  his  bill,  took  his  bag  in  his  hand, 
and  went  out  to  idle  about  the  streets  and  over  the  river 
till  the  time  should  have  arrived  at  which  the  night-mail 
left  the  Waterloo  Station,  by  which  train  he  intended  to 
return  homeward. 

There  exists,  as  it  were,  an  outer  chamber  to  the 
mind,  in  which,  when  a  man  is  occupied  centrally  with 
the  most  momentous  question  of  his  life,  casual  and 
trifling  thoughts  are  just  allowed  to  wander  softly  for  an 
interval,  before  being  banished  altogether.  Thus,  amid 
his  concentration  did  Manston  receive  perceptions  of 
the  individuals  about  him  in  the  lively  thoroughfare  of 
the  Strand ;  tall  men  looking  insignificant ;  little  men 
looking  great  and  profound ;  lost  women  of  miserable 
repute  looking  as  happy  as  the  days  are  long ;  wives, 
happy  by  assumption,  looking  careworn  and  miserable. 
Each  and  all  were  alike  in  this  one  respect,  that  they 
followed  a  solitary  trail  like  the  inwoven  threads  which 
form  a  banner,  and  all  were  equally  unconscious  of  the 
significant  whole  they  collectively  showed  forth. 

At  ten  o'clock  he  turned  into  Lancaster  Place, 
crossed  the  river,  and  entered  the  railway-station,  where 
he  took  his  seat  in  the  down  mail-train,  which  bore  him, 
and  Edward  Sprinprove's  letter  to  Graye.  far  away  from 
London. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XVII 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

ONE  DA  Y 

I.  March  the  Thirteenth,    Three  to  Six 

o'clock  A.M. 

They  entered  Anglebury  Station  in  the  dead,  still 
time  of  early  morning,  the  clock  over  the  booking-office 
pointing  to  twenty-five  minutes  to  three.  Manston 
lingered  on  the  platform  and  saw  the  mail-bags  brought 
out,  noticing,  as  a  pertinent  pastime,  the  many  shabby 
blotches  of  wax  from  innumerable  seals  that  had  been 
set  upon  their  mouths.  The  guard  took  them  into  a 
fly,  and  was  driven  down  the  road  to  the  post-office. 

It  was  a  raw,  damp,  uncomfortable  morning,  though, 
as  yet,  little  rain  was  falling.  Manston  drank  a  mouth- 
ful from  his  flask  and  walked  at  once  away  from  the 
station,  pursuing  his  way  through  the  gloom  till  he 
stood  on  the  side  of  the  town  adjoining,  at  a  distance 
from  the  last  house  in  the  street  of  about  two  hundred 
yards. 

The  station  road  was  also  the  turnpike-road  into  the 
country,  the  first  part  of  its  course  being  across  a  heath. 
Having  surveyed  the  highway  up  and  down  to  make 
sure  of  its  bearing,  Manston  methodically  set  himself  to 
walk  backwards  and  forwards  a  stone's  throw  in  each 
371 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

direction.  Although  the  spring  was  temperate,  the  time 
of  day,  and  the  condition  of  suspense  in  which  the 
steward  found  himself,  caused  a  sensation  of  chilliness 
to  pervade  his  frame  in  spite  of  the  overcoat  he  wore. 
The  drizzling  rain  increased,  and  drops  from  the  trees 
at  the  wayside  fell  noisily  upon  the  hard  road  beneath 
them,  which  reflected  from  its  glassy  surface  the  faint 
halo  of  light  hanging  over  the  lamps  of  the  adjacent 
town. 

Here  he  walked  and  lingered  for  two  hours,  without 
seeing  or  hearing  a  living  soul.  Then  he  heard  the 
market-house  clock  strike  five,  and  soon  afterwards, 
quick  hard  footsteps  smote  upon  the  pavement  of  the 
street  leading  towards  him.  They  were  those  of  the  post- 
man for  the  Tolchurch  beat.  He  reached  the  bottom  of 
the  street,  gave  his  bags  a  final  hitch-up,  stepped  off  the 
pavement,  and  struck  out  for  the  country  with  a  brisk 
shuffle. 

Manston  then  turned  his  back  upon  the  town,  and 
walked  slowly  on.  In  two  minutes  a  flickering  light 
shone  upon  his  form,  and  the  postman  overtook  him. 

The  new-comer  was  a  short,  stooping  individual  of 
above  five-and-forty,  laden  on  both  sides  with  leather  bags 
large  and  small,  and  carrying  a  little  lantern  strapped  to 
his  breast,  which  cast  a  tiny  patch  of  light  upon  the 
road  ahead. 

*  A  tryen  mornen  for  travellers  ! '  the  postman  cried,  in 
a  cheerful  voice,  without  turning  his  head  or  slackening 
his  trot. 

'  It  is,  indeed,'  said  Manston,  stepping  out  abreast  of 
him.     '  You  have  a  long  walk  every  day.' 

'  Yes — a  long  walk — for  though  the  distance  is  only 
sixteen  miles  on  the  straight — that  is,  eight  to  the 
furthest  place  and  eight  back,  what  with  the  ins  and 
outs  to  the  gentlemen's  houses,  it  makes  two-and-twenty 
for  my  legs.  Two-and-twenty  miles  a  day,  how  many 
a  year?  I  used  to  reckon  it,  but  I  never  do  now.  I 
372 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

don't  care  to  think  o'  my  wear  and  tear,  now  it  do 
begin  to  tell  upon  me.' 

Thus  the  conversation  was  begun,  and  the  postman 
proceeded  to  narrate  the  different  strange  events  that 
marked  his  experience.     Manston  grew  very  friendly. 

'  Postman,  I  don't  know  what  your  custom  is,'  he 
said,  after  a  while ;  '  but  between  you  and  me,  I  always 
carry  a  drop  of  something  warm  in  my  pocket  when 
I  am  out  on  such  a  morning  as  this.  Try  it.'  He 
handed  the  bottle  of  brandy. 

'  If  you'll  excuse  me,  please.  I  haven't  took  no 
stimmilents  these  five  years.' 

'  'Tis  never  too  late  to  mend.' 

'  Against  the  regulations,  I  be  afraid.' 

'  Who'll  know  it  ?  ' 

'  That's  true — nobody  will  know  it.  Still,  honesty's 
the  best  policy.' 

'  Ah — it  is  certainly.  But,  thank  God,  I've  been  able 
to  get  on  without  it  yet.     You'll  surely  drink  with  me  ?  ' 

'  Really,  'tis  a'most  too  early  for  that  sort  o'  thing — 
however,  to  oblige  a  friend,  I  don't  object  to  the  faintest 
shadder  of  a  drop.'  The  postman  drank,  and  Manston 
did  the  same  to  a  very  slight  degree.  Five  minutes 
later,  when  they  came  to  a  gate,  the  flask  was  pulled 
out  again. 

'  Well  done ! '  said  the  postman,  beginning  to  feel  its 
effect ;  '  but  guide  my  soul,  I  be  afraid  'twill  hardly  do  ! ' 

'  Not  unless  'tis  well  followed,  like  any  other  line 
you  take  up,'  said  Manston.  '  Besides,  there's  a  way 
of  liking  a  drop  of  liquor,  and  of  being  good — even 
religious — at  the  same  time.' 

'  Ay,  for  some  thimble-and-button  in-an-out  fellers ; 
but  I  could  never  get  into  the  knack  o'  it ;  not  I.' 

'  Well,  you  needn't  be  troubled  ;  it  isn't  necessary 
for  the  higher  class  of  mind  to  be  religious — they  have 
so  much  common-sense  that  they  can  risk  playing  with 
fire.' 

»B  373 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  That  hits  me  exactly.' 

'  In  fact,  a  man  I  know,  who  always  had  no  other 
god  but  "  Me ; "  and  devoutly  loved  his  neighbour's 
wife,  says  now  that  believing  is  a  mistake.' 

'  Well,  to  be  sure !  However,  believing  in  God  is  a 
mistake  made  by  very  few  people,  after  all.' 

*  A  true  remark.' 

'  Not  one  Christian  in  our  parish  would  walk  half 
a  mile  in  a  rain  like  this  to  know  whether  the  Scrip- 
ture had  concluded  him  under  sin  or  grace.' 

'  Nor  in  mine.' 

'  Ah,  you  may  depend  upon  it  they'll  do  away  wi' 
Goddymity  altogether  afore  long,  although  we've  had 
him  over  us  so  many  years.' 

'  There's  no  knowing.' 

•  And  I  suppose  the  Queen  'ill  be  done  away  wi' 
then.  A  pretty  concern  that'll  be !  Nobody's  head 
to  put  on  your  letters ;  and  then  your  honest  man  who 
do  pay  his  penny  will  never  be  known  from  your  scamp 
who  don't.     O,  'tis  a  nation  ! ' 

'  Warm  the  cockles  of  your  heart,  however.  Here's 
the  bottle  waiting.' 

*  I'll  oblige  you,  my  friend.' 

The  drinking  was  repeated.  The  postman  grew 
liveher  as  he  went  on,  and  at  length  favoured  the 
steward  with  a  song,  Manston  himself  joining  in  the 
chorus. 

•  He  flung  his  mallet  against  the  wall. 
Said,  "  The  Lord  make  churches  and  chapels  to  fall, 
And  there'll  be  work  for  tradesmen  all !  " 
When  Joan's  ale  was  new, 

My  boys, 
When  Joan's  ale  was  new.* 

*  You  understand,  friend,'  the  postman  added,  *  I 
was  originally  a  mason  by  trade  :  no  offence  to  you  if 
you  be  a  parson  ? ' 

374 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  None  at  all,'  said  Manston. 

The  rain  now  came  down  heavily,  but  they  pursued 
their  path  with  alacrity,  the  produce  of  the  several  fields 
between  which  the  lane  wound  its  way  being  indicated 
by  the  peculiar  character  of  the  sound  emitted  by  the 
falling  drops.  Sometimes  a  soaking  hiss  proclaimed 
that  they  were  passing  by  a  pasture,  then  a  patter  would 
show  that  the  rain  fell  upon  some  large-leafed  root  crop, 
then  a  paddling  plash  announced  the  naked  arable,  the 
low  sound  of  the  wind  in  their  ears  rising  and  falling 
with  each  pace  they  took. 

Besides  the  small  private  bags  of  the  county  families, 
which  were  all  locked,  the  postman  bore  the  large  general 
budget  for  the  remaining  inhabitants  along  his  beat.  At 
each  village  or  hamlet  they  came  to,  the  postman  searched 
for  the  packet  of  letters  destined  for  that  place,  and 
thrust  it  into  an  ordinary  letter-hole  cut  in  the  door 
of  the  receiver's  cottage — the  village  post-offices  being 
mostly  kept  by  old  women  who  had  not  yet  risen, 
though  lights  moving  in  other  cottage  windows  showed 
that  such  people  as  carters,  woodmen,  and  stablemen, 
had  long  been  stirring. 

The  postman  had  by  this  time  become  markedly  un- 
steady, but  he  still  continued  to  be  too  conscious  of  his 
duties  to  suffer  the  steward  to  search  the  bag.  Mansion 
was  perplexed,  and  at  lonely  points  in  the  road  cast  his 
eyes  keenly  upon  the  short  bowed  figure  of  the  man 
trotting  through  the  mud  by  his  side,  as  if  he  were  half 
inclined  to  run  a  very  great  risk  indeed. 

It  frequently  happened  that  the  houses  of  farmers, 
clergymen,  &ic.,  lay  a  short  distance  up  or  down  a  lane 
or  path  branching  from  the  direct  track  of  the  postman's 
journey.  To  save  time  and  distance,  at  the  point  of 
junction  of  some  of  these  paths  with  the  main  road,  the 
gate-post  was  hollowed  out  to  form  a  letter-box,  in 
which  the  postman  deposited  his  missives  in  the  morn- 
ing, looking  in  the  box  again  in  the  evening  to  collect 
375 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

those  placed  there  for  the  return  post.  To^.hurch 
Vicarage  and  Farmstead,  lying  back  from  the  villajjC 
street,  were  served  on  this  principle.  This  fact  the 
steward  now  learnt  by  conversing  with  the  postman, 
and  the  discovery  relieved  Mansion  greatly,  making  his 
intentions  much  clearer  to  himself  than  they  had  been 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  his  journey. 

They  had  reached  the  outskirts  of  the  village.  Man- 
ston  insisted  upon  the  flask  being  emptied  before  they 
proceeded  further.  This  was  done,  and  they  approached 
the  church,  the  vicarage,  and  the  farmhouse  in  which 
Owen  and  Cytherea  were  living. 

The  postman  paused,  fumbled  in  his  bag,  took  out 
by  the  light  of  his  lantern  some  half-dozen  letters, 
and  tried  to  sort  them.  He  could  not  -perform  the 
task. 

'  We  be  crippled  disciples  a  b'lieve,'  he  said,  with  a 
sigh  and  a  stagger. 

*  Not  drunk,  but  market-merry,'  said  Manston  cheer- 
fully. 

'  Well  done !  If  I  baint  so  weak  that  I  can't  see 
the  clouds — much  less  letters.  Guide  my  soul,  if  so  be 
anybody  should  tell  the  Queen's  postmaster  general  of 
me !  The  whole  story  will  have  to  go  through  Parlia- 
ment House,  and  I  shall  be  high-treasoned — as  safe 
as  houses — and  be  fined,  and  who'll  pay  for  a  poor 
martel !     O,  'tis  a  world  ! ' 

'  Trust  in  the  Lord — he'll  pay.' 

'  He  pay  a  b'lieve !  why  should  he  when  he  didn't 
drink  the  drink  ?  He  pay  a  b'lieve  !  D'ye  think  the 
man's  a  fool  ?  ' 

'  Well,  well,  I  had  no  intention  of  hurting  your 
feelings — but  how  was  I  to  know  you  were  so  sensitive?' 

'  True — you  were  not  to  know  I  was  so  sensitive. 
Here's  a  caddie  wi'  these  letters !  Guide  my  soul,  what 
will  Billy  do  ! ' 

Manston  offered  his  services. 
376 


Desperate  remedies 

"•Tlicy  are  to  be  divided,'  the  man  said. 

«  How  ? '  said  Mansion. 

'  These,  for  the  village,  to  be  carried  on  into  it :  any 
for  the  vicarage  or  vicarage  farm  must  be  left  in  the  box 
of  the  gate-post  just  here.  There's  none  for  the  vicarage- 
house  this  mornen,  but  I  saw  when  I  started  there  was 
one  for  the  clerk  o'  works  at  the  new  church.  This  is 
it,  isn't  it  ? ' 

He  held  up  a  large  envelope,  directed  in  Edward 
Springrove's  handwriting : — 

*Mr.  Owen  Grave, 

Clerk  of  Works, 
tolchurch, 

Near  Anglebury* 

The  letter-box  was  scooped  in  an  oak  gate-post  about 
a  foot  square.  There  was  no  slit  for  inserting  the  letters, 
by  reason  of  the  opportunity  such  a  lonely  spot  would 
have  afforded  mischievous  peasant-boys  of  doing  damage 
had  such  been  the  case ;  but  at  the  side  was  a  small 
iron  door,  kept  close  by  an  iron  reversible  strap  locked 
across  it.  One  side  of  this  strap  was  painted  black, 
the  other  white,  and  white  or  black  outwards  implied 
respectively  that  there  were  letters  inside,  or  none. 

The  postman  had  taken  the  key  from  his  pocket  and 
was  attempting  to  insert  it  in  the  keyhole  of  the  box. 
He  touched  one  side,  the  other,  above,  below,  but  never 
made  a  straight  hit. 

'  Let  me  unlock  it,'  said  Manston,  taking  the  key 
from  the  postman.  He  opened  the  box  and  reached 
out  with  his  other  hand  for  Owen's  letter. 

'  No,  no.  O  no — no,'  the  postman  said.  '  As — 
one  of — Majesty's  servants — care — Majesty's  mails — 
duty — put  letters — own  hands.'  He  slowly  and  solemnly 
placed  the  letter  in  the  small  cavity. 

'  Now  lock  it,'  he  said,  closing  the  door. 
a77 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  steward  placed  the  bar  across,  with  the  black 
side  outwards,  signifying  '  empty,'  and  turned  the  key. 

'  You've  put  the  wrong  side  outwards ! '  said  the 
postman.      '  'Tisn't  empty.' 

'  And  dropped  the  key  in  the  mud,  so  that  I  can't 
alter  it,'  said  the  steward,  letting  something  fall. 

'  What  an  awkward  thing  ! ' 

'  It  is  an  awkward  thing.' 

They  both  went  searching  in  the  mud,  which  their 
own  trampling  had  reduced  to  the  consistency  of  pap, 
the  postman  unstrapping  his  little  lantern  from  his 
breast,  and  thrusting  it  about,  close  to  the  ground,  the 
rain  still  drizzHng  down,  and  the  dawn  so  tardy  on 
account  of  the  heavy  clouds  that  daylight  seemed  delayed 
indefinitely.  The  rays  of  the  lantern  were  rendered 
individually  visible  upon  the  thick  mist,  and  seemed 
almost  tangible  as  they  passed  off  into  it,  after  illumi- 
nating the  faces  and  knees  of  the  two  stooping  figures 
dripping  with  wet ;  the  postman's  cape  and  private  bags, 
and  the  steward's  valise,  glistening  as  if  they  had  been 
varnished. 

'  It  fell  on  the  grass,'  said  the  postman. 

'  No ;  it  fell  in  the  mud,'  said  Manston.  They 
searched  again. 

'  I'm  afraid  we  shan't  find  it  by  this  light,'  said  the 
steward  at  length,  washing  his  muddy  fingers  in  the  wet 
grass  of  the  bank. 

•  I'm  afraid  we  shan't,'  said  the  other,  standing  up. 

'  I'll  tell  you  what  we  had  better  do,'  said  Manston. 
'  I  shall  be  back  this  way  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  since  it 
was  all  my  fault,  I'll  look  again,  and  shall  be  sure  to 
find  it  in  the  daylight.  And  I'll  hide  the  key  here  for 
you.'  He  pointed  to  a  spot  behind  the  post.  '  It  will 
be  too  late  to  turn  the  index  then,  as  the  people  will 
have  been  here,  so  that  the  box  had  better  stay  as 
it  is.  The  letter  will  only  be  delayed  a  day,  and  that 
will  not  be  noticed;  if  it  is,  you  can  say  you  placed 
37* 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  iron  the  wrong  way  without  knowing  it,  and  all 
will  be  well.' 

This  was  agreed  to  by  the  postman  as  the  best  thing 
to  be  done  under  the  circumstances,  and  the  pair  went 
on.  They  had  passed  the  village  and  come  to  a  cross- 
road, when  the  steward,  telling  his  companion  that 
their  paths  now  diverged,  turned  off  to  the  left  towards 
Carriford. 

No  sooner  was  the  postman  out  of  sight  and  hearing 
than  Mansion  stalked  back  to  the  vicarage  letter-box 
by  keeping  inside  a  fence,  and  thus  avoiding  the  village ; 
arrived  here,  he  took  the  key  from  his  pocket,  where  it 
had  been  concealed  all  the  time,  and  abstracted  Owen's 
letter.  This  done,  he  turned  towards  home,  by  the 
help  of  what  he  carried  in  his  valise  adjusting  himself 
to  his  ordinary  appearance  as  he  neared  the  quarter  in 
which  he  was  known. 

An  hour  and  halfs  sharp  walking  brought  him  to 
his  own  door  in  Knapwater  Park. 


2.  Eight  o'clock  a,m. 

Seated  in  his  private  office  he  wetted  the  flap  of  the 
stolen  letter,  and  waited  patiently  till  the  adhesive  gum 
could  be  loosened.  He  took  out  Edward's  note,  the 
accounts,  the  rosebud,  and  the  photographs,  regarding 
them  with  the  keenest  interest  and  anxiety. 

The  note,  the  accounts,  the  rosebud,  and  his  own 
photograph,  he  restored  to  their  places  again.  The 
other  photograph  he  took  between  his  finger  and  thumb, 
and  held  it  towards  the  bars  of  the  grate.  There  he 
held  it  for  half-a-minute  or  more,  meditating. 

*  It  is  a  great  risk  to  run,  even  for  such  an  end,'  he 
muttered. 

Suddenly,  impregnated  with  a  bright  idea,  he  jumped 
up  and  left  the  office  for  the  front  parlour.  Taking 
379 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

up  an  album  of  portraits,  which  lay  on  the  table,  he 
searched  for  three  or  four  likenesses  of  the  lady  who 
had  so  lately  displaced  Cytherea,  which  were  inter- 
spersed among  the  rest  of  the  collection,  and  carefully 
regarded  them.  They  were  taken  in  different  attitudes 
and  styles,  and  he  compared  each  singly  with  that  he 
held  in  his  hand.  One  of  them,  the  one  most  resem- 
bling that  abstracted  from  the  letter  in  general  tone,  size, 
and  attitude,  he  selected  from  the  rest,  and  returned 
with  it  to  his  office. 

Pouring  some  water  into  a  plate,  he  set  the  two 
portraits  afloat  upon  it,  and  sitting  down  tried  to 
read. 

At  the  end  of  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  after  several 
ineffectual  attempts,  he  found  that  each  photograph 
would  peel  from  the  card  on  which  it  was  mounted. 
This  done,  he  threw  into  the  fire  the  original  likeness 
and  the  recent  card,  stuck  upon  the  original  card  the 
recent  likeness  from  the  album,  dried  it  before  the  fire, 
and  placed  it  in  the  envelope  with  the  other  scraps. 

The  result  he  had  obtained,  then,  was  this  :  in  the 
envelope  were  now  two  photographs,  both  having  the 
same  photographer's  name  on  the  back  and  consecu- 
tive numbers  attached.  At  the  bottom  of  the  one  which 
showed  his  own  likeness,  his  own  name  was  written 
down ;  on  the  other  his  wife's  name  was  written ;  whilst 
the  central  feature,  and  whole  matter  to  which  this 
latter  card  and  writing  referred,  the  likeness  of  a  lady 
mounted  upon  it,  had  been  changed. 

Mrs.  Manston  entered  the  room,  and  begged  him  to 
come  to  breakfast.  He  followed  her  and  they  sat 
down.  During  the  meal  he  told  her  what  he  had  done, 
with  scrupulous  regard  to  every  detail,  and  showed  her 
the  result. 

•  It  is  indeed  a  great  risk  to  run,'  she  said,  sipping 
her  tea. 

'  But  it  would  be  a  greater  not  to  do  it.* 
380 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

♦Yes.' 

The  envelope  was  again  fastened  up  as  before,  and 
Mansion  put  it  in  his  pocket  and  went  out.  Shortly 
afterwards  he  was  seen,  on  horseback,  riding  in  a 
direction  towards  Tolchurch.  Keeping  to  the  fields, 
as  well  as  he  could,  for  the  greater  part  of  the  way, 
he  dropped  into  the  road  by  the  vicarage  letter-box, 
and  looking  carefully  about,  to  ascertain  that  no  person 
was  near,  he  restored  the  letter  to  its  nook,  placed  the 
key  in  its  hiding-place,  as  he  had  promised  the  post- 
man, and  again  rode  homewards  by  a  roundabout  way. 


3.  Afternoon 

The  letter  was  brought  to-  Owen  Graye,  the  same 
afternoon,  by  one  of  the  vicar's  servants  who  had  been 
to  the  box  with  a  duplicate  key,  as  usual,  to  leave 
letters  for  the  evening  post.  The  man  found  that  the 
index  had  told  falsely  that  morning  for  the  first  time 
within  his  recollection ;  but  no  particular  attention  was 
paid  to  the  mistake,  as  it  was  considered.  The  contents 
of  the  envelope  were  scrutinized  by  Owen  and  flung 
aside  as  useless. 

The  next  morning  brought  Springrove's  second 
letter,  the  existence  of  which  was  unknown  to  Manston. 
The  sight  of  Edward's  handwriting  again  raised  the 
expectations  of  brother  and  sister,  till  Owen  had 
opened  the  envelope  and  pulled  out  the  twig  and 
verse. 

'  Nothing  that's  of  the  slightest  use,  after  all,'  he  said 
to  her ;  '  we  are  as  far  as  ever  from  the  merest  shadow 
of  legal  proof  that  would  convict  him  of  what  I  am 
morally  certain  he  did,  marry  you,  suspecting,  if  not 
knowing,  her  to  be  alive  all  the  time.' 

'  What  has  Edward  sent  ?  '  said  Cytherea. 

'  An  old  amatory  verse  in  Mansion's  writing.  Fancy,' 
381 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

he  said  bitterly,  '  this  is  the  strain  he  addressed  her  in 
when  they  were  courting — as  he  did  yqu,  I  suppose.' 
He  handed  her  the  verse  and  she  read — 

'EUNICE. 

'  Whoso  for  hours  or  lengthy  days 
Shall  catch  her  aspect's  changeful  rays. 
Then  turn  away,  can  none  recall 
Beyond  a  galaxy  of  all 

In  hazy  portraiture ; 
Lit  by  the  light  of  azure  eyes 
4'  Like  summer  days  by  summer  skies : 

Her  sweet  transitions  seem  to  be 
A  kind  of  pictured  melody, 

And  not  a  set  contour. 

'^.  M.' 

A  strange  expression  had  overspread  Cytherea's  coun- 
tenance. It  rapidly  increased  to  the  most  death-like 
anguish.  She  flung  down  the  paper,  seized  Owen's  hand 
tremblingly,  and  covered  her  face. 

*  Cytherea !     What  is  it,  for  Heaven's  sake  ? ' 

'  Owen — suppose — O,  you  don't  know  what  I  think.' 

'  What  ? ' 

' "  The  light  of  azure  eyes'' '  she  repeated  with  ashy 
lips. 

'  Well,  "  the  light  of  azure  eyes  "  ?  '  he  said,  astounded 
at  her  manner. 

'  Mrs.  Morris  said  in  her  letter  to  me  that  her  eyes 
are  black  ! ' 

*  H'm.  Mrs.  Morris  must  have  made  a  mistake — 
nothing  likelier.' 

'  She  didn't.' 

'They  might  be  either  in  this  photograph,'  said  Owen, 
looking  at  the  card  bearing  Mrs.  Manston's  name. 

'Blue  eyes  would  scarcely  photograph  so  deep  in 
tone  as  that,'  said  Cytherea.  'No,  they  seem  black 
here,  certainly.' 

382 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

•  Well,  then,  Manston  must  have  blundered  in  writing 
his  verses.' 

'  But  could  he  ?  Say  a  man  in  love  may  forget 
his  own  name,  but  not  that  he  forgets  the  colour  of 
his  mistress's  eyes.  Besides  she  would  have  seen 
the  mistake  when  she  read  them,  and  have  had  it 
corrected.' 

'That's  true,  she  would,'  mused  Owen.  'Then, 
Cytherea,  it  conies  to  this — you  must  have  been  mis- 
informed by  Mrs.  Morris,  since  there  is  no  other  alter- 
native.' 

'  I  suppose  I  must.' 

Her  looks  belied  her  words. 

'  What  makes  you  so  strange — ill  ? '  said  Owen  again. 

'  I  can't  believe  Mrs.  Morris  wrong.' 

'  But  look  at  this,  Cytherea.  If  it  is  clear  to  us  that 
the  woman  had  blue  eyes  two  years  ago,  she  must  have 
blue  eyes  now,  whatever  Mrs.  Morris  or  anybody  else 
may  fancy.  Any  one  would  think  that  Manston  could 
change  the  colour  of  a  woman's  eyes  to  hear  you.' 

'  Yes,'  she  said,  and  paused. 

'  You  say  yes,  as  if  he  could,'  said  Owen  impatiently. 

'  By  changing  the  woman  herself,'  she  exclaimed, 
'  Owen,  don't  you  see  the  horrid — what  I  dread  ? — that 
the  woman  he  lives  with  is  not  Mrs.  Manston — that 
she  was  burnt  after  all — and  that  I  am  HIS  WIFE  ! ' 

She  tried  to  support  a  stoicism  under  the  weight  of 
this  new  trouble,  but  no  !  The  unexpected  revulsion  of 
ideas  was  so  overwhelming  that  she  crept  to  him  and 
leant  against  his  breast. 

Before  reflecting  any  further  upon  the  subject  Graye 
led  her  upstairs  and  got  her  to  lie  down.  Then  he 
went  to  the  window  and  stared  out  of  it  up  the  lane, 
vainly  endeavouring  to  come  to  some  conclusion  upon 
the  fantastic  enigma  that  confronted  him.  Cytherea's 
new  view  seemed  incredible,  yet  it  had  such  a  hold  upon 
her  that  it  would  be  necessary  to  clear  it  away  by  posi- 
38i 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 
'^ 

tive  proof  before  contemplation  of  her  fear  should  have 
preyed  too  deeply  upon  her. 

'  Cytherea,'  he  said,  '  this  will  not  do.  You  must 
stay  here  alone  all  the  afternoon  whilst  I  go  to  Carriford. 
I  shall  know  all  when  I  return.' 

'  No,  no,  don't  go  ! '  she  implored. 

'  Soon,  then,  not  directly.'  He  saw  her  subtle  reason- 
ing— that  it  was  folly  to  be  wise. 

Reflection  still  convinced  him  that  good  would  come 
of  persevering  in  his  intention  and  dispelling  his  sister's 
idle  fears.  Anything  was  better  than  this  absurd  doubt 
in  her  mind.  But  he  resolved  to  wait  till  Sunday,  the 
first  day  on  which  he  might  reckon  upon  seeing  Mrs. 
Mansion  without  suspicion.  In  the  meantime  he  wrote 
to  Edward  Springrove,  requesting  him  to  go  again  to 
Mrs.  Manston's  former  lodgings. 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


XVIII 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

THREE  DA  YS 


I.  March  the  Eighteenth 

oUNDAY  morning  had  come,  and  Owen  was  trudging 
over  the  six  miles  of  hill  and  dale  that  lay  between  Tol- 
church  and  Carriford. 

Edward  Springrove's  answer  to  the  last  letter,  after 
expressing  his  amazement  at  the  strange  contradiction 
between  the  verses  and  Mrs.  Morris's  letter,  had  been 
to  the  effect  that  he  had  again  visited  the  neighbour  of 
the  dead  Mr.  Brown,  and  had  received  as  near  a  descrip- 
tion of  Mrs.  Manston  as  it  was  possible  to  get  at  second- 
hand, and  by  hearsay.  She  was  a  tall  woman,  wide  at 
the  shoulders,  and  full-chested,  and  she  had  a  straight 
and  rather  large  nose.  The  colour  of  her  eyes  the  in- 
formant did  not  know,  for  she  had  only  seen  the  lady 
in  the  street  as  she  went  in  or  out.  This  confusing 
remark  was  added.  The  woman  had  almost  recognized 
Mrs.  Manston  when  she  had  called  with  her  husband 
lately,  but  she  had  kept  her  veil  down.  Her  residence, 
before  she  came  to  Hoxton,  was  quite  unknown  to  this 
next-door  neighbour,  and  Edward  could  get  no  manner 
of  clue  to  it  from  any  other  source. 

385  2  B 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Owen  reached  the  church-door  a  few  minutes  before 
the  bells  began  chiming.  Nobody  was  yet  in  the  church, 
and  he  walked  round  the  aisles.  From  Cytherea's  fre- 
quent description  of  how  and  where  herself  and  others 
used  to, sit,  he  knew  where  to  look  for  Manston's  seat; 
and  after  two  or  three  errors  of  examination  he  took  up 
a  prayer-book  in  which  was  written  '  Eunice  Manston.' 
The  book  was  nearly  new,  and  the  date  of  the  writing 
about  a  month  earlier.  One  point  was  at  any  rate 
established :  that  the  woman  living  with  Manston  was 
presented  to  the  world  as  no  other  than  his  lawful 
wife. 

The  quiet  villagers  of  Carriford  required  no  pew- 
opener  in  their  place  of  worship :  natives  and  in- 
dwellers  had  their  own  seats,  and  strangers  sat  where 
they  could.  Graye  took  a  seat  in  the  nave,  on  the 
north  side,  close  behind  a  pillar  dividing  it  from  the 
north  aisle,  which  was  completely  allotted  to  Miss 
Aldclyffe,  her  farmers,  and  her  retainers,  Manston's 
pew  being  in  the  midst  of  them.  Owen's  position  on 
the  other  side  of  the  passage  was  a  little  in  advance 
of  Manston's  seat,  and  so  situated  that  by  leaning 
forward  he  could  look  directly  into  the  face  of  any 
person  sitting  there,  though,  if  he  sat  upright,  he 
was  wholly  hidden  from  such  a  one  by  the  intervening 
pillar. 

Aiming  to  keep  his  presence  unknown  to  Manston 
if  possible,  Owen  sat,  without  once  turning  his  head, 
during  the  entrance  of  the  congregation.  A  rustling  of 
silk  round  by  the  north  passage  and  into  Manston's 
seat,  told  him  that  some  woman  had  entered  there,  and 
as  it  seemed  from  the  accompaniment  of  heavier  foot- 
steps, Manston  was  with  her. 

Immediately  upon  rising  up,  he  looked  intently  in 

that  direction,  and  saw  a  lady  standing  at  the  end  of 

the  seat  nearest  himself.     Portions  of  Manston's  figure 

appeared  on  the  other  side  of  her.     In   two  glances 

386 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Graye  read  thus  many  of  her  characteristics,  and  in  the 
following  order  : — 

She  was  a  tall  woman. 

She  was  broad  at  the  shoulders. 

She  was  full-bosomed. 

She  was  easily  recognizable  from  the  photograph  ; 
but  nothing  could  be  discerned  of  the  colour  of  her 
eyes. 

With  a  preoccupied  mind  he  withdrew  into  his  nook, 
and  heard  the  service  continued — only  conscious  of  the 
fact  that  in  opposition  to  the  suspicion  which  one  odd 
circumstance  had  bred  in  his  sister  concerning  this 
woman,  all  ostensible  and  ordinary  proofs  and  proba- 
bilities tended  to  the  opposite  conclusion.  There  sat 
the  genuine  original  of  the  portrait — could  he  wish  for 
more  ?  Cytherea  wished  for  more.  Eunice  Mansion's 
eyes  were  blue,  and  it  was  necessary  that  this  woman's 
eyes  should  be  blue  also. 

Unskilled  labour  wastes  in  beating  against  the  bars 
ten  times  the  energy  exerted  by  the  practised  hand  in 
the  effective  direction.  Owen  felt  this  to  be  the  case  in 
his  own  and  Edward's  attempts  to  follow  up  the  clue 
afforded  them.  Think  as  he  might,  he  could  not  think 
of  a  crucial  test  in  the  matter  absorbing  him,  which 
should  possess  the  indispensable  attribute — a  capability 
of  being  applied  privately;  that  in  the  event  of  its 
proving  the  lady  to  be  the  rightful  owner  of  the  name 
she  used,  he  might  recede  without  obloquy  from  an 
untenable  position. 

But  to  see  Mrs.  Manston's  eyes  from  where  he  sat 
was  impossible,  and  he  could  do  nothing  in  the  shape 
of  a  direct  examination  at  present.  Miss  Aldclyffe  had 
possibly  recognized  him,  but  Manston  had  not,  and 
feeling  that  it  was  indispensable  to  keep  the  purport  of 
his  visit  a  secret  from  the  steward,  he  thought  it  would 
be  as  well,  too,  to  keep  his  presence  in  the  village  a 
secret  from  him ;  at  any  rate,  till  the  day  was  over. 
387 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

At  the  first  opening  of  the  doors,  Graye  left  the 
church  and  wandered  away  into  the,  fields  to  ponder 
on  another  scheme.  He  could  not  call  on  Farmer 
Springrove,  as  he  had  intended,  until  this  matter  was 
set  at  rest.  Two  hours  intervened  between  the  morning 
and  afternoon  services. 

This  time  had  nearly  expired  before  Owen  had  struck 
out  any  method  of  proceeding,  or  could  decide  to  run 
the  risk  of  calling  at  the  Old  House  and  asking  to  see 
Mrs.  Manston  point-blank.  But  he  had  drawn  near 
the  place,  and  was  standing  still  in  the  public  path, 
from  which  a  partial  view  of  the  front  of  the  building 
could  be  obtained,  when  the  bells  began  chiming  for 
afternoon  service.  Whilst  Graye  paused,  two  persons 
came  from  the  front  door  of  the  half-hidden  dwelling, 
whom  he  presently  saw  to  be  Manston  and  his  wife. 
Manston  was  wearing  his  old  garden-hat,  and  carried 
one  of  the  monthly  magazines  under  his  arm.  Immedi- 
ately they  had  passed  the  gateway  he  branched  off  and 
went  over  the  hill  in  a  direction  away  from  the  church, 
evidently  intending  to  ramble  along,  and  read  as  the 
humour  moved  him.  The  lady  meanwhile  turned  in 
the  other  direction,  and  went  into  the  church  path. 

Owen  resolved  to  make  something  of  this  opportunity. 
He  hurried  along  towards  the  church,  doubled  round 
a  sharp  angle,  and  came  back  upon  the  other  path,  by 
which  Mrs.  Manston  must  arrive. 

In  about  three  minutes  she  appeared  in  sight  without 
a  veil.  He  discovered,  as  she  drew  nearer,  a  diflficulty 
which  had  not  struck  him  at  first — that  it  is  not  an  easy 
matter  to  particularize  the  colour  of  a  stranger's  eyes 
in  a  merely  casual  encounter  on  a  path  out  of  doors. 
That  Mrs.  Manston  must  be  brought  close  to  him,  and 
not  only  so,  but  to  look  closely  at  him,  if  his  purpose 
were  to  be  accomplished. 

He  shaped  a  plan.     It  might  by  chance  be  effectual ; 
if  otherwise,  it  would  not  reveal   his  intention  to  her. 
388 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

When  Mrs.  Mansion  was  within  speaking  distance,  he 
went  up  to  her  and  said — 

'  Will  you  kindly  tell  me  which  turning  will  take  me 
to  Casterbridge  ? ' 

*  The  second  on  the  right,'  said  Mrs.  Manston. 

Owen  put  on  a  blank  look :  he  held  his  hand  to  his 
ear — conveying  to  the  lady  the  idea  that  he  was  deaf. 

She  came  closer  and  said  more  distinctly — 

'  The  second  turning  on  the  right.' 

Owen  flushed  a  little.  He  fancied  he  had  beheld 
the  revelation  he  was  in  search  of.  But  had  his  eyes 
deceived  him  ? 

Once  more  he  used  the  ruse,  still  drawing  nearer, 
and  intimating  by  a  glance  that  the  trouble  he  gave  her 
was  very  distressing  to  him. 

'  How  very  deaf ! '  she  murmured.  She  exclaimed 
loudly — 

'  The  second  turning  to  the  right. ^ 

She  had  advanced  her  face  to  within  a  foot  of  his 
own,  and  in  speaking  mouthed  very  emphatically,  fixing 
her  eyes  intently  upon  his.  And  now  his  first  suspicion 
was  indubitably  confirmed.  Her  eyes  were  as  black  as 
midnight. 

All  this  feigning  was  most  distasteful  to  Graye.  The 
riddle  having  been  solved,  he  unconsciously  assumed 
his  natural  look  before  she  had  withdrawn  her  face. 
She  found  him  to  be  peering  at  her  as  if  he  would  read 
her  very  soul — expressing  with  his  eyes  the  notification 
of  which,  apart  from  emotion,  the  eyes  are  more  capable 
than  any  other — inquiry. 

.  Her  face  changed  its  expression — then  its  colour. 
The  natural  tint  of  the  lighter  portions  sank  to  an  ashy 
gray ;  the  pink  of  her  cheeks  grew  purpler.  It  was  the 
precise  result  which  would  remain  after  blood  had  left 
the  face  of  one  whose  skin  was  dark,  and  artificially 
coated  with  pearl-powder  and  carmine. 

She  turned  her  head  and  moved  away,  murmuring 

ac  389 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

a  hasty  reply  to  Owen's  farewell  remark  of  '  Good-day,' 
and  with  a  kind  of  nervous  twitch  lifting  her  hand  and 
smoothing  her  hair,  which  was  of  a  light-brown  colour. 

'  She  wears  false  hair,'  he  thought,  '  or  has  changed 
its  colour  artificially.     Her  true  hair  matched  her  eyes.' 

And  now,  in  spite  of  what  Mr.  Brown's  neighbours 
had  said  about  nearly  recognizing  Mrs.  Manston  on  her 
recent  visit — which  might  have  meant  anything  or 
nothing ;  in  spite  of  the  photograph,  and  in  spite  of  his 
previous  incredulity ;  in  consequence  of  the  verse,  of 
her  silence  and  backwardness  at  the  visit  to  Hoxton  with 
Manston,  and  of  her  appearance  and  distress  at  the  pre- 
sent moment,  Graye  had  a  conviction  that  the  woman 
was  an  impostor. 

What  could  be  Manston's  reason  for  such  an  astound- 
ing trick  he  could  by  no  stretch  of  imagination  divine. 

He  changed  his  direction  as  soon  as  the  woman  was 
out  of  sight,  and  plodded  along  the  lanes  homeward  to 
Tolchurch. 

One  new  idea  was  suggested  to  him  by  his  desire 
to  allay  Cytherea's  dread  of  being  claimed,  and  by  the 
difficulty  of  believing  that  the  first  Mrs.  Manston  lost 
her  life  as  supposed,  notwithstanding  the  inquest  and 
verdict.  Was  it  possible  that  the  real  Mrs.  Manston, 
who  was  known  to  be  a  Philadelphian  by  birth,  had 
returned  by  the  train  to  London,  as  the  porter  had  said, 
and  then  left  the  country  under  an  assumed  name,  to 
escape  that  worst  kind  of  widowhood — the  misery  of 
being  wedded  to  a  fickle,  faithless,  and  truant  husband  ? 

In  her  complicated  distress  at  the  news  brought  by 
her  brother,  Cytherea's  thoughts  at  length  reverted  to 
her  friend,  the  Rector  of  Carriford.  She  told  Owen  of 
Mr.  Raunham's  warm-hearted  behaviour  towards  herself, 
and  of  his  strongly  expressed  wish  to  aid  her. 

'  He  is  not  only  a  good,  but  a  sensible  man.     \Vq 
seem  to  want  an  old  head  on  our  side.' 
390 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'And  he  is  a  magistrate,'  said  Owen  in  a  tone  of 
concurrence.  He  thought,  too,  that  no  harm  could 
come  of  confiding  in  the  rector,  but  there  was  a  difficulty 
in  bringing  about  the  confidence.  He  wished  that  his 
sister  and  himself  might  both  be  present  at  an  inter- 
view with  Mr.  Raunham,  yet  it  would  be  unwise  for 
them  to  call  on  him  together,  in  the  sight  of  all  the 
servants  and  parish  of  Carriford. 

There  could  be  no  objection  to  their  writing  him  a 
letter. 

No  sooner  was  the  thought  born  than  it  was  carried 
out.  They  wrote  to  him  at  once,  asking  him  to  have 
the  goodness  to  give  them  some  advice  they  sadly  needed, 
and  begging  that  he  would  accept  their  assurance  that 
there  was  a  real  justification  for  the  additional  request 
they  made — that  instead  of  their  calling  upon  him,  he 
would  any  evening  of  the  week  come  to  their  cottage  at 
Tolchurch. 


2.  March  the  Twentieth.     Six  to  Nine 
o'clock  p.m. 

Two  evenings  later,  to  the  total  disarrangement  of 
his  dinner-hour,  Mr.  Raunham  appeared  at  Owen's  door. 
His  arrival  was  hailed  with  genuine  gratitude.  The  horse 
was  tied  to  the  palings,  and  the  rector  ushered  indoors 
and  put  into  the  easy-chair. 

Then  Graye  told  him  the  whole  story,  reminding  him 
that  their  first  suspicions  had  been  of  a  totally  different 
nature,  and  that  in  endeavouring  to  obtain  proof  of 
their  truth  they  had  stumbled  upon  marks  which  had 
surprised  them  into  these  new  uncertainties,  thrice  as 
marvellous  as  the  first,  yet  more  prominent. 

Cytherea's  heart  was  so  full  of  anxiety  that  it  super- 
induced a  manner  of  confidence  which  was  a  death-blow 
to  all  formality,  Mr.  Raunham  took  her  hand  pityingly. 
39X 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  It  is  a  serious  charge,'  he  said,  as  a  sort  of  original 
twig  on  which  his  thoughts  might  precipitate  themselves. 

'  Assuming  for  a  moment  that  such  a  substitution 
was  rendered  an  easy  matter  by  fortuitous  events,'  he 
continued,  '  there  is  this  consideration  to  be  placed  be- 
side it — what  earthly  motive  can  Mr,  Manston  have  had 
which  would  be  sufficiently  powerful  to  lead  him  to  run 
such  a  very  great  risk  ?  The  most  abandoned  roite  could 
not,  at  that  particular  crisis,  have  taken  such  a  reckless 
step  for  the  mere  pleasure  of  a  new  companion.' 

Owen  had  seen  that  difficulty  about  the  motive; 
Cytherea  had  not. 

'  Unfortunately  for  us,'  the  rector  resumed,  '  no  more 
evidence  is  to  be  obtained  from  the  porter,  Chinney. 
I  suppose  you  know  what  became  of  him  ?  He  got  to 
Liverpool  and  embarked,  intending  to  work  his  way  to 
America,  but  on  the  passage  he  fell  overboard  and  was 
drowned.  But  there  is  no  doubt  of  the  truth  of  his 
confession — in  fact,  his  conduct  tends  to  prove  it  true 
— and  no  moral  doubt  of  the  fact  that  the  real  Mrs. 
Manston  left  here  to  go  back  by  that  morning's  train. 
This  being  the  case,  then,  why,  if  this  woman  is  not 
she,  did  she  take  no  notice  of  the  advertisement — I 
mean  not  necessarily  a  friendly  notice,  but  from  the 
information  it  afforded  her  have  rendered  it  impossible 
that  she  should  be  personified  without  her  own  con- 
nivance ? ' 

'  I  think  that  argument  is  overthrown,'  Graye  said, 
•  by  my  earliest  assumption  of  her  hatred  of  him,  weari- 
ness of  the  chain  which  bound  her  to  him,  and  a  resolve 
to  begin  the  world  anew.  Let's  suppose  she  has  married 
another  man — somewhere  abroad,  say  ;  she  would  be 
silent  for  her  own  sake.' 

'You've  hit  the  only  genuine  possibility,'  said  Mr. 
Raunham,   tapping  his   finger   upon   his  knee.     'That 
would  decidedly  dispose  of  the  second  difficulty.     But 
his  motive  would  be  as  mysterious  as  ever.' 
392 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Cytherea's  pictured  dreads  would  not  allow  her  mind 
to  follow  their  conversation.  '  She's  burnt,'  she  said. 
'  O  yes  ;  I  fear — I  fear  she  is  ! ' 

'  I  don't  think  we  can  seriously  believe  that  now, 
after  what  has  happened,'  said  the  rector. 

Still  straining  her  thought  towards  the  worst,  '  Then, 
perhaps,  the  first  Mrs.  Manston  was  not  his  wife,'  she 
returned ;  '  and  then  I  should  be  his  wife  just  the  same, 
shouldn't  I  ? ' 

'  They  were  married  safely  enough,'  said  Owen. 
*  There  is  abundance  of  circumstantial  evidence  to  prove 
that.' 

'  Upon  the  whole,'  said  Mr.  Raunham,  '  I  should 
advise  your  asking  in  a  straightforward  way  for  legal 
proof  from  the  steward  that  the  present  woman  is  really 
his  original  wife — a  thing  which,  to  my  mind,  you  should 
have  done  at  the  outset.'  He  turned  to  Cytherea  kindly, 
and  asked  her  what  made  her  give  up  her  husband  so 
unceremoniously. 

She  could  not  tell  the  rector  of  her  aversion  to 
Manston,  and  of  her  unquenched  love  for  Edward. 

'Your  terrified  state,  no  doubt,'  he  said,  answering 
for  her,  in  the  manner  of  those  accustomed  to  the  pulpit. 
'  But  into  such  a  solemn  compact  as  marriage,  all-im- 
portant considerations,  both  legally  and  morally,  enter ; 
it  was  your  duty  to  have  seen  everything  clearly  proved. 
Doubtless  Mr.  Manston  is  prepared  with  proofs,  but  as 
it  concerns  nobody  but  yourself  that  her  identity  should 
be  publicly  established  (and  by  your  absenteeism  you  act 
as  if  you  were  satisfied)  he  has  not  troubled  to  exhibit 
them.  Nobody  else  has  taken  the  trouble  to  prove 
what  does  not  affect  them  in  the  least — that's  the  way 
of  the  world  always.  You,  who  should  have  required 
all  things  to  be  made  clear,  ran  away.' 

'  That  was  partly  my  doing,'  said  Owen. 

The  same  explanation — her  want  of  love  for  Man- 
sion— applied  here  too,  but  she  shunned  the  revelation. 
39i 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  But  never  mind,'  added  the  rector  ;  *  it  was  all  the 
greater  credit  to  your  womanhood,  perhaps.  I  say,  then, 
get  your  brother  to  write  a  line  to  Mr.  Manston,  saying 
you  wish  to  be  satisfied  that  all  is  legally  clear  (in  case 
you  should  want  to  marry  again,  for  instance),  and  I 
have  no  doubt  that  you  will  be.  Or,  if  you  would 
rather,  I'll  write  myself  ? ' 

'  O  no,  sir,  no,'  pleaded  Cytherea,  beginning  to  blanch, 
and  breathing  quickly.  '  Please  don't  say  anything.  Let 
me  live  here  with  Owen.  I  am  so  afraid  it  will  turn  out 
that  I  shall  have  to  go  to  Knapwater  and  be  his  wife, 
and  I  don't  want  to  go.  Do  conceal  what  we  have  told 
you.  Let  him  continue  his  deception — it  is  much  the 
best  for  me.' 

Mr.  Raunham  at  length  divined  that  her  love  for 
Manston,  if  it  had  ever  existed,  had  transmuted  itself 
into  a  very  different  feeling  now. 

'  At  any  rate,'  he  said,  as  he  took  his  leave  and 
mounted  his  mare,  '  I  will  see  about  it.  Rest  content, 
Miss  Graye,  and  depend  upon  it  that  I  will  not  lead 
you  into  difficulty.' 

'  Conceal  it,'  she  still  pleaded. 

'  We'll  see — but  of  course  I  must  do  my  duty.' 

•  No — don't  do  your  duty  ! '  She  looked  up  at  him 
through  the  gloom,  illuminating  her  own  face  and  eyes 
with  the  candle  she  held. 

'  I  will  consider,  then,'  said  Mr.  Raunham,  sensibly 
moved.  He  turned  his  horse's  head,  bade  them  a  warm 
adieu,  and  left  the  door. 

The  rector  of  Carriford  trotted  homewards  under  the 
cold  and  clear  March  sky,  its  countless  stars  fluttering 
like  bright  birds.  He  was  unconscious  of  the  scene. 
Recovering  from  the  effect  of  Cytherea's  voice  and 
glance  of  entreaty,  he  laid  the  subject  of  the  interview 
clearly  before  himself. 

The  suspicions  of  Cytherea  and  Owen  were  honest, 
and  had  foundation — that  he  must  own.  Was  he — a 
394 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

clergyman,  magistrate,  and  conscientious  man — justified 
in  yielding  to  Cytherea's  importunities  to  keep  silence, 
because  she  dreaded  the  possibility  of  a  return  to 
Manston  ?  Was  she  wise  in  her  request  ?  Holding 
her  present  belief,  and  with  no  definite  evidence  either 
way,  she  could,  for  one  thing,  never  conscientiously 
marry  any  one  else.  Suppose  that  Cytherea  were  Man- 
ston's  wife — i.e.,  that  the  first  wife  was  really  burnt  ? 
The  adultery  of  Manston  would  be  proved,  and,  Mr. 
Raunham  thought,  cruelty  sufficient  to  bring  the  case 
within  the  meaning  of  the  statute.  Suppose  the  new 
woman  was,  as  stated,  Mr.  Manston's  restored  wife? 
Cytherea  was  perfectly  safe  as  a  single  woman  whose 
marriage  had  been  void.  And  if  it  turned  out  that, 
though  this  woman  was  not  Manston's  wife,  his  wife  was 
still  living,  as  Owen  had  suggested,  in  America  or  else- 
where, Cytherea  was  safe. 

The  first  supposition  opened  up  the  worst  contin- 
gency. Was  she  really  safe  as  Manston's  wife  ?  Doubt- 
ful. But,  however  that  might  be,  the  gentle,  defenceless 
girl,  whom  it  seemed  nobody's  business  to  help  or  de- 
fend, should  be  put  in  a  track  to  proceed  against  this 
man.  She  had  but  one  life,  and  the  superciliousness 
with  which  all  the  world  now  regarded  her  should  be 
compensated  in  some  measure  by  the  man  whose  care- 
lessness— to  set  him  in  the  best  light — had  caused  it. 

Mr.  Raunham  felt  more  and  more  positively  that 
his  duty  must  be  done.  An  inquiry  must  be  made  into 
the  matter.  Immediately  on  reaching  home,  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  plain  and  friendly  letter  to  Mr. 
Manston,  and  despatched  it  at  once  to  him  by  hand. 
Then  he  flung  himself  back  in  his  chair,  and  went  on 
with  his  meditation.  Was  there  anything  in  the  suspi- 
cion? There  could  be  nothing,  surely.  Nothing  is 
done  by  a  clever  man  without  a  motive,  and  what  con- 
ceivable motive  could  Manston  have  for  such  abnormal 
conduct  ?    Corinthian  that  he  might  be,  who  had  preyed 

395 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

on  virginity  like  St.  George's  dragon,  he  would  never 
have  been  absurd  enough  to  venture  on  such  a  course 
for  the  possession  alone  of  the  woman — there  was  no 
reason  for  it — she  was  inferior  to  Cytherea  in  every 
respect,  physical  and  mental. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  seemed  rather  odd,  when  he 
analyzed  the  action,  that  a  woman  who  deliberately  hid 
herself  from  her  husband  for  more  than  a  twelvemonth 
should  be  brought  back  by  a  mere  advertisement.  In 
fact,  the  whole  business  had  worked  almost  too  smoothly 
and  effectually  for  unpremeditated  sequence.  It  was  too 
much  like  the  indiscriminate  righting  of  everything  at 
the  end  of  an  old  play.  And  there  was  that  curious 
business  of  the  keys  and  watch.  Her  way  of  accounting 
for  their  being  left  behind  by  forgetfulness  had  always 
seemed  to  him  rather  forced.  The  only  unforced  ex- 
planation was  that  suggested  by  the  newspaper  writers 
— that  she  left  them  behind  on  purpose  to  blind  people 
as  to  her  escape,  a  motive  which  would  have  clashed 
with  the  possibility  of  her  being  fished  back  by  an 
advertisement,  as  the  present  woman  had  been.  Again, 
there  were  the  two  charred  bones.  He  shuffled  the 
books  and  papers  in  his  study,  and  walked  about  the 
room,  restlessly  musing  on  the  same  subject.  The 
parlour-maid  entered. 

'Can  young  Mr.  Springrove  from  London  see  you 
to-night,  sir  ? ' 

'  Young  Mr.  Springrove  ? '  said  the  rector,  surprised. 

*  Yes,  sir.' 

'  Yes,  of  course  he  can  see  me.    Tell  him  to  come  in.' 

Edward  came  so  impatiently  into  the  room,  as  to 
show  that  the  few  short  moments  his  announcement 
had  occupied  had  been  irksome  to  him.  He  stood  in 
the  doorway  with  the  same  black  bag  in  his  hand,  and 
the  same  old  gray  cloak  on  his  shoulders,  that  he  had 
worn  fifteen  months  earlier  when  returning  on  the  night 
of  the  fire.  This  appearance  of  his  conveyed  a  true 
396 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

impression ;  he  had  become  a  stagnant  man.  But  he 
was  excited  now. 

'  I  have  this  moment  come  from  London,'  he  said, 
as  the  door  was  closed  behind  him. 

The  prophetic  insight,  which  so  strangely  accom- 
panies critical  experiences,  prompted  Mr.  Raunham's 
reply. 

*  About  the  Grayes  and  Manston  ?  ' 

*  Yes.     That  woman  is  not  Mrs.  Manston.' 
'  Prove  it.' 

'  I  can  prove  that  she  is  somebody  else — that  her 
name  is  Anne  Seaway.' 

'  And  are  their  suspicions  true  indeed  ! ' 

'  And  I  can  do  what's  more  to  the  purpose  at 
present.' 

'  Suggest  Manston's  motive  ? ' 

'  Only  suggest  it,  remember.  But  my  assumption 
fits  so  perfectly  with  the  facts  that  have  been  secretly 
unearthed  and  conveyed  to  me,  that  I  can  hardly  con- 
ceive of  another.' 

There  was  in  Edward's  bearing  that  entire  uncon- 
sciousness of  himself  which,  natural  to  wild  animals, 
only  prevails  in  a  sensitive  man  at  moments  of  extreme 
intentness.  The  rector  saw  that  he  had  no  trivial  story 
to  communicate,  whatever  the  story  was. 

*  Sit  down,'  said  Mr.  Raunham.  '  My  mind  has 
been  on  the  stretch  all  the  evening  to  form  the  slightest 
guess  at  such  an  object,  and  all  to  no  purpose — en- 
tirely to  no  purpose.  Have  you  said  anything  to  Owen 
Graye  ? ' 

'  Nothing — nor  to  anybody.  I  could  not  trust  to 
the  effect  a  letter  might  have  upon  yourself,  either;  the 
intricacy  of  the  case  brings  me  to  this  interview.' 

Whilst  Springrove  had  been  speaking  the  two  had 

sat  down  together.     The  conversation,  hitherto  distinct 

to  every  corner  of  the  room,  was  carried  on   now  in 

tones   so  low  as   to  be   scarcely  audible  to  the  inter- 

397 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

locutors,  and  in  phrases  which  hesitated  to  complete 
themselves.  Three-quarters  of  an  hour  passed.  Then 
Edward  arose,  came  out  of  the  rector's  study  and  again 
flung  his  cloak  around  him.  Instead  of  going  thence 
homeward,  he  went  first  to  the  Carriford  Road  Station 
with  a  telegram,  having  despatched  which  he  proceeded 
to  his  father's  house  for  the  first  time  since  his  arrival 
in  the  village. 


3.  From  Nine  to  Ten  o'clock  p.m. 

The  next  presentation  is  the  interior  of  the  Old 
House  on  the  evening  of  the  preceding  section.  The 
steward  was  sitting  by  his  parlour  fire,  and  had  been 
reading  the  letter  arrived  from  the  rectory.  Opposite 
to  him  sat  the  woman  known  to  the  village  and  neigh- 
bourhood as  Mrs.  Mansion. 

'  Things  are  looking  desperate  with  us,'  he  said 
gloomily.  His  gloom  was  not  that  of  the  hypochon- 
driac, but  the  legitimate  gloom  which  has  its  origin  in 
a  syllogism.  As  he  uttered  the  words  he  handed  the 
letter  to  her. 

'  I  almost  expected  some  such  news  as  this,'  she 
replied,  in  a  tone  of  much  greater  indifference.  '  I 
knew  suspicion  lurked  in  the  eyes  of  that  young  man 
who  stared  at  me  so  in  the  church  path  :  I  could  have 
sworn  it.' 

Manston  did  not  answer  for  some  time.  His  face 
was  worn  and  haggard  ;  latterly  his  head  had  not  been 
carried  so  uprightly  as  of  old.  '  If  they  prove  you  to 
be — who  you  are.  .  .  .  Yes,  if  they  do,'  he  murmured. 
*  They  must  not  find  that  out,'  she  said,  in  a  positive 
voice,  and  looking  at  him.  *  But  supposing  they  do, 
the  trick  does  not  seem  to  me  to  be  so  serious  as  to 
justify  that  wretched,  miserable,  horrible  look  of  yours. 
It  makes  my  flesh  creep ;  it  is  perfectly  deathlike.' 
398 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

He  did  not  reply,  and  she  continued,  '  If  they  say 
and  prove  that  Eunice  is  indeed  Uving — and  dear,  you 
know  she  is — she  is  sure  to  come  back.' 

This  remark  seemed  to  awaken  and  irritate  him  to 
speech.  Again,  as  he  had  done  a  hundred  times 
during  their  residence  together,  he  categorized  the 
events  connected  with  the  fire  at  the  Three  Tranters. 
He  dwelt  on  every  incident  of  that  night's  history,  and 
endeavoured,  with  an  anxiety  which  was  extraordinary 
in  the  apparent  circumstances,  to  prove  that  his  wife 
must,  by  the  very  nature  of  things,  have  perished  in  the 
flames.  She  arose  from  her  seat,  crossed  the  hearthrug, 
and  set  herself  to  soothe  him ;  then  she  whispered  that 
she  was  still  as  unbelieving  as  ever.  '  Come,  supposing 
she  escaped — ^just  supposing  she  escaped — where  is 
she  ? '  coaxed  the  lady. 

'  Why  are  you  so  curious  continually  ?  '  said  Manston. 

*  Because  I  am  a  woman  and  want  to  know.  Now 
where  is  she  ?  ' 

'  In  the  Flying  Isle  of  San  Borandan.' 
'  Witty  cruelty  is  the  cruellest  of  any.     Ah,  well — if 
she  is  in  England,  she  will  come  back.' 

*  She  is  not  in  England.' 

'  But  she  will  come  back  ?  ' 

'  No,  she  won't.  .  .  .  Come,  madam,'  he  said,  arous- 
ing himself,  '  I  shall  not  answer  any  more  questions.' 

*  Ah — ah — ah — she  is  not  dead,'  the  woman  mur- 
mured again  poutingly. 

'  She  is,  I  tell  you.' 

*  I  don't  think  so,  love.' 

'  She  was  burnt,  I  tell  you  ! '  he  exclaimed. 

'  Now  to  please  me,  admit  the  bare  possibility  of  her 
being  alive — ^just  the  possibility.' 

'  O  yes — to  please  you  I  will  admit  that,'  he  said 
quickly.  '  Yes,  I  admit  the  possibility  of  her  being 
alive,  to  please  you. 

She  looked  at  him  in  utter  perplexity.  The  words 
399 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

could  only  have  been  said  in  jest,  and  yet  they  seemed 
to  savour  of  a  tone  the  furthest  remove  from  jesting. 
There  was  his  face  plain  to  her  eyes,  but  no  information 
of  any  kind  was  to  be  read  there. 

'  It  is  only  natural  that  I  should  be  curious,'  she 
murmured  pettishly,  '  if  I  resemble  her  as  much  as  you 
say  I  do.' 

'  You  are  handsomer,'  he  said,  '  though  you  are 
about  her  own  height  and  size.  But  don't  worry  your- 
self. You  must  know  that  you  are  body  and  soul 
united  with  me,  though  you  are  but  my  housekeeper.' 

She  bridled  a  little  at  the  remark.  '  Wife,'  she  said, 
'  most  certainly  wife,  since  you  cannot  dismiss  me  with- 
out losing  your  character  and  position,  and  incurring 
heavy  penalties.' 

*  I  own  it — it  was  well  said,  though  mistakenly — 
very  mistakenly.' 

'  Don't  riddle  to  me  about  mistakenly  and  such  dark 
things.  Now  what  was  your  motive,  dearest,  in  running 
the  risk  of  having  me  here  ?  ' 

'Your  beauty,'  he  said. 

'  She  thanks  you  much  for  the  compliment,  but  will 
not  take  it.     Come,  what  was  your  motive  ? ' 

'  Your  wit.' 

'  No,  no ;  not  my  wit.  Wit  would  have  made  a  wife 
of  me  by  this  time  instead  of  what  I  am.' 

*  Your  virtue.' 

*  Or  virtue  either.' 

'  I  tell  you  it  was  your  beauty — really.* 

'  But  I  cannot  help  seeing  and  hearing,  and  if  what 
people  say  is  true,  I  am  not  nearly  so  good-looking  as 
Cytherea,  and  several  years  older.' 

The  aspect  of  Manston's  face  at  these  words  from 
her  was  so  confirmatory  of  her  hint,  that  his  forced  reply 
of  '  O  no,'  tended  to  develop  her  chagrin. 

*  Mere  liking  or  love  for  me,'  she  resumed,  *  would 
not  have  sprung  up  all  of  a  sudden,  as  your  pretended 

400 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

passion  did.  You  had  been  to  London  several  times 
between  the  time  of  the  fire  and  your  marriage  with 
Cytherea — you  had  never  visited  me  or  thought  of  my 
existence  or  cared  that  I  was  out  of  a  situation  and 
poor.  But  the  week  after  you  married  her  and  were 
separated  from  her,  off  you  rush  to  make  love  to  me 
— not  first  to  me  either,  for  you  went  to  several 
places ' 

'  No,  not  several  places.' 

'Yes,  you  told  me  so  yourself — that  you  went  first 
to  the  only  lodging  in  which  your  wife  had  been  known 
as  Mrs.  Manston,  and  when  you  found  that  the  lodging- 
house-keeper  had  gone  away  and  died,  and  that  nobody 
else  in  the  street  had  any  definite  ideas  as  to  your 
wife's  personal  appearance,  and  came  and  proposed  the 
arrangement  we  carried  out — that  I  should  personate 
her.  Your  taking  all  this  trouble  shows  that  something 
more  serious  than  love  had  to  do  with  the  matter.' 

•  Humbug — what  trouble  after  all  did  I  take  ?  When 
I  found  Cytherea  would  not  stay  with  me  after  the 
wedding  I  was  much  put  out  at  being  left  alone  again. 
Was  that  unnatural  ? ' 

'No.' 

'  And  those  favouring  accidents  you  mention — that 
nobody  knew  my  first  wife — seemed  an  arrangement  of 
Providence  for  our  mutual  benefit,  and  merely  perfected 
a  half-formed  impulse — that  I  should  call  you  my  first 
wife  to  escape  the  scandal  that  would  have  arisen  if  you 
had  come  here  as  anything  else.' 

'  My  love,  that  story  won't  do.  If  Mrs.  Manston 
was  burnt,  Cytherea,  whom  you  love  better  than  me, 
could  have  been  compelled  to  live  with  you  as  your 
lawful  wife.  If  she  was  not  burnt,  why  should  you 
run  the  risk  of  her  turning  up  again  at  any  moment 
and  exposing  your  substitution  of  me,  and  ruining  your 
name  and  prospects  ? ' 

'  Why — because  I  might  have  loved  you  well  enough 
401  2  c 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

to  run  the  risk  (assuming  her  not  to  be  burnt,  which 
I  deny).' 

*No — you  would  have  run  the  risk  the  other  way. 
You  would  rather  have  risked  her  finding  you  with 
Cytherea  as  a  second  wife,  than  with  me  as  a  personator 
of  herself — the  first  one.' 

'  You  came  easiest  to  hand — remember  that.' 

'Not  so  very  easy  either,  considering  the  labour 
you  took  to  teach  me  your  first  wife's  history.  All 
about  how  she  was  a  native  of  Philadelphia.  Then 
making  me  read  up  the  guide-book  to  Philadelphia, 
and  details  of  American  life  and  manners,  in  case 
the  birthplace  and  history  of  your  wife,  Eunice,  should 
ever  become  known  in  this  neighbourhood  —  unlikely 
as  it  was.  Ah !  and  then  about  the  handwriting  of 
hers  that  I  had  to  imitate,  and  the  dying  my  hair, 
and  rouging,  to  make  the  transformation  complete  ? 
You  mean  to  say  that  that  was  taking  less  trouble 
than  there  would  have  been  in  arranging  events  to 
make  Cytherea  believe  herself  your  wife,  and  live  with 
you?' 

'You  were  a  needy  adventuress,  who  would  dare 
anything  for  a  new  pleasure  and  an  easy  life — and  I 
was  fool  enough  to  give  in  to  you ' 

'  Good  heavens  above ! — did  I  ask  you  to  insert 
those  advertisements  for  your  old  wife,  and  to  make  me 
answer  it  as  if  I  was  she  ?  Did  I  ask  you  to  send  me 
the  letter  for  me  to  copy  and  send  back  to  you  when  the 
third  advertisement  appeared — purporting  to  come  from 
the  long-lost  wife,  and  giving  a  detailed  history  of  her 
escape  and  subsequent  life — all  which  you  had  invented 
yourself?  You  deluded  me  into  loving  you,  and  then 
enticed  me  here !  Ah,  and  this  is  another  thing. 
How  did  you  know  the  real  wife  wouldn't  answer  it, 
and  upset  all  your  plans  ?  ' 

'  Because  I  knew  she  was  burnt.' 

'Why  didn't  you  force  Cytherea  to  come  back, 
402 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

then  ?  Now,  my  love,  I  have  caught  you,  and  you  may 
just  as  well  tell  first  as  last,  what  was  your  motive  in 
having  me  here  as  your  first  wife  ?  ' 

'  Silence  ! '  he  exclaimed. 

She  was  silent  for  the  space  of  two  minutes,  and 
then  persisted  in  going  on  to  mutter,  *  And  why  was  it 
that  Miss  Aldclyffe  allowed  her  favourite  young  lady, 
Cythie,  to  be  overthrown  and  supplanted  without  an 
expostulation  or  any  show  of  sympathy  ?  Do  you 
know  I  often  think  you  exercise  a  secret  power  over 
Miss  Aldclyffe.  And  she  always  shuns  me  as  if  I 
shared  the  power.  A  poor,  ill-used  creature  like  me 
sharing  power,  indeed  ! ' 

'  She  thinks  you  are  Mrs.  Mansion.' 

'  That  wouldn't  make  her  avoid  me.' 

'  Yes  it  would,'  he  exclaimed  impatiently.  '  I  wish 
I  was  dead — dead ! '  He  had  jumped  up  from  his  seat 
in  uttering  the  words,  and  now  walked  wearily  to  the 
end  of  the  room.  Coming  back  more  decisively,  he 
looked  in  her  face. 

'  We  must  leave  this  place  if  Raunham  suspects 
what  I  think  he  does,'  he  said.  'The  request  of 
Cytherea  and  her  brother  may  simply  be  for  a  satis- 
factory proof,  to  make  her  feel  legally  free — but  it  may 
mean  more.' 

'  What  may  it  mean  ? ' 

'  How  should  I  know  ?  ' 

'  Well,  well,  never  mind,  old  boy,'  she  said,  approach- 
ing him  to  make  up  the  quarrel.  '  Don't  be  so  alarmed 
— anybody  would  think  that  you  were  the  woman  and 
I  the  man.  Suppose  they  do  find  out  what  I  am — 
we  can  go  away  from  here  and  keep  house  as  usual. 
People  will  say  of  you,  "  His  first  wife  was  burnt  to 
death "  (or  "  ran  away  to  the  Colonies,"  as  the  case 
may  be) ;  "  He  married  a  second,  and  deserted  her 
for  Anne  Seaway."  A  very  everyday  case — nothing 
so  horrible,  after  all.' 

403 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

He  made  an  impatient  movement.  'Whichever 
way  we  do  it,  nobody  must  knoiv  that  you  are  not  my 
wife  Eunice.     And  now  I  must  think  about  arrangmg 

Manston  then  retired  to  his  office,  and  shut  himself 
up  for  the  remainder  of  the  evening. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XIX 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

A  DAY  AND  NIGHT 

1.  March  the  Twenty-First,     Morning 

JN  EXT  morning  the  steward  went  out  as  usual.  He 
shortly  told  his  companion,  Anne,  that  he  had  almost 
matured  their  scheme,  and  that  they  would  enter 
upon  the  details  of  it  when  he  came  home  at  night. 
The  fortunate  fact  that  the  rector's  letter  did  not  re- 
quire an  immediate  answer  would  give  him  time  to 
consider. 

Anne  Seaway  then  began  her  duties  in  the  house. 
Besides  daily  superintending  the  cook  and  housemaid, 
one  of  these  duties  was,  at  rare  intervals,  to  dust 
Manston's  office  with  her  own  hands,  a  servant  being 
supposed  to  disturb  the  books  and  papers  unnecessarily. 
She  softly  wandered  from  table  to  shelf  with  the  duster 
in  her  hand,  afterwards  standing  in  the  middle  of  the 
room,  and  glancing  around  to  discover  if  any  noteworthy 
collection  of  dust  had  still  escaped  her. 

Her  eye  fell  upon  a  faint  layer  which  rested  upon 
the  ledge  of  an  old-fashioned  chestnut  cabinet  of  French 
Renaissance  workmanship,  placed  in  a  recess  by  the 
fireplace.     At  a  height  of  about  four  feet  from  the  floor 

2D  405 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  upper  portion  of  the  front  receded,  forming  the  ledge 
alluded  to,  on  which  opened  at  each  ^nd  two  small 
doors,  the  centre  space  between  them  being  filled  out  by 
a  panel  of  similar  size,  making  the  third  of  three  squares. 
The  dust  on  the  ledge  was  nearly  on  a  level  with  the 
woman's  eye,  and,  though  insignificant  in  quantity, 
showed  itself  distinctly  on  account  of  this  obUquity  of 
vision.  Now  opposite  the  central  panel,  concentric 
quarter-circles  were  traced  in  the  deposited  film,  expres- 
sing to  her  that  this  panel,  too,  was  a  door  like  the 
others ;  that  it  had  lately  been  opened,  and  had  skimmed 
the  dust  with  its  lower  edge. 

At  last,  then,  her  curiosity  was  slightly  rewarded. 
For  the  right  of  the  matter  was  that  Anne  had  been 
incited  to  this  exploration  of  Mansion's  office  rather  by 
a  wish  to  know  the  reason  of  his  long  seclusion  here, 
after  the  arrival  of  the  rector's  letter,  and  their  sub- 
sequent discourse,  than  by  any  immediate  desire  for 
cleanliness.  Still,  there  would  have  been  nothing  re- 
markable to  Anne  in  this  sight  but  for  one  recollection. 
Manston  had  once  casually  told  her  that  each  of  the 
two  side-lockers  included  half  the  middle  space,  the 
panel  of  which  did  not  open,  and  was  only  put  in  for 
symmetry.  It  was  possible  that  he  had  opened  this 
compartment  by  candlelight  the  preceding  night,  or  he 
would  have  seen  the  marks  in  the  dust,  and  effaced 
them,  that  he  might  not  be  proved  guilty  of  telling  her 
an  untruth.  She  balanced  herself  on  one  foot  and 
stood  pondering.  She  considered  that  it  was  very 
vexing  and  unfair  in  him  to  refuse  her  all  knowledge  of 
his  remaining  secrets,  under  the  peculiar  circumstances 
of  her  connection  with  him.  She  went  close  to  the 
cabinet.  As  there  was  no  keyhole,  the  door  must  be 
capable  of  being  opened  by  the  unassisted  hand.  The 
circles  in  the  dust  told  her  at  which  edge  to  apply  her 
force.  Here  she  pulled  with  the  tips  of  her  fingers,  but 
the  panel  would  not  come  forward.  She  fetched  a  chair 
406 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

and  looked  over  the  top  of  the  cabinet,  but  no  bolt, 
knob,  or  spring  was  to  be  seen. 

'  O,  never  mind,'  she  said,  with  indifference ;  '  I'll 
ask  him  about  it,  and  he  will  tell  me.'  Down  she  came 
and  turned  away.  Then  looking  back  again  she  thought 
it  was  absurd  such  a  trifle  should  puzzle  her.  She  re- 
traced her  steps,  and  opened  a  drawer  beneath  the  ledge 
of  the  cabinet,  pushing  in  her  hand  and  feeling  about 
on  the  underside  of  the  board. 

Here  she  found  a  small  round  sinking,  and  pressed 
her  finger  into  it.  Nothing  came  of  the  pressure.  She 
withdrew  her  hand  and  looked  at  the  tip  of  her  finger : 
it  was  marked  with  the  impress  of  the  circle,  and,  in 
addition,  a  line  ran  across  it  diametrically. 

'  How  stupid  of  me ;  it  is  the  head  of  a  screw.' 
\\Tiatever  mysterious  contrivance  had  originally  existed 
for  opening  the  puny  cupboard  of  the  cabinet,  it  had 
at  some  time  been  broken,  and  this  rough  substitute 
provided.  Stimulated  curiosity  would  not  allow  her  to 
recede  now.  She  fetched  a  screwdriver,  withdrew  the 
screw,  pulled  the  door  open  with  a  penknife,  and  found 
inside  a  cavity  about  ten  inches  square.  The  cavity 
contained — 

Letters  from  different  women,  with  unknown  signa- 
tures. Christian  names  only  (surnames  being  despised  in 
Paphos).  Letters  from  his  wife  Eunice.  Letters  from 
Anne  herself,  including  that  she  wrote  in  answer  to  his 
advertisement.  A  small  pocket-book.  Sundry  scraps 
of  paper. 

The  letters  from  the  strange  women  with  pet  names 
she  glanced  carelessly  through,  and  then  put  them  aside. 
They  were  too  similar  to  her  own  regretted  delusion, 
and  curiosity  requires  contrast  to  excite  it. 

The  letters  from  his  wife  were  next  examined.  They 
were  dated  back  as  far  as  Eunice's  first  meeting  with 
Manston,  and  the  early  ones  before  their  marriage  con- 
tained the  usual  pretty  effusions  of  women  at  such  a 
407 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

period  of  their  existence.  Some  little  time  after  he  had 
made  her  his  wife,  and  when  he  had  come  to  Knapwater, 
the  series  began  again,  and  now  their  contents  arrested 
her  attention  more  forcibly.  She  closed  the  cabinet, 
carried  the  letters  into  the  parlour,  reclined  herself  on 
the  sofa,  and  carefully  perused  them  in  the  order  of 
their  dates. 

'John  Street, 

October  17,  1864. 

*My  dearest  Husband,— I  received  your  hurried  line  of 
yesterday,  and  was  of  course  content  with  it.  But  why  don't  you 
tell  me  your  exact  address  instead  of  that  "Post-Office,  Bud- 
mouth?"  This  matter  is  all  a  mystery  to  me,  and  I  ought  to  be 
told  every  detail.  I  cannot  fancy  it  is  the  same  kind  of  occupation 
you  have  been  used  to  hitherto.  Your  command  that  I  am  to  stay 
here  awhile  until  you  can  "see  how  things  look"  and  can  arrange 
to  send  for  me,  I  must  necessarily  abide  by.  But  if,  as  you  say,  a 
married  man  would  have  been  rejected  by  the  person  who  engaged 
you,  and  that  hence  my  existence  must  be  kept  a  secret  until  you 
have  secured  your  position,  why  did  you  think  of  going  at  all? 

'  The  truth  is,  this  keeping  our  marriage  a  secret  is  troublesome, 
vexing,  and  wearisome  to  me.  I  see  the  poorest  woman  in  the 
street  bearing  her  husband's  name  openly— living  with  him  in  the 
most  malter-of-fact  ease,  and  why  shouldn't  I?  I  wish  I  was  back 
again  in  Liverpool. 

'To-day  I  bought  a  grey  waterproof  cloak.  I  think  it  is  a 
little  too  long  for  me,  but  it  was  cheap  for  one  of  such  a  quality. 
The  weather  is  gusty  and  dreary,  and  till  this  morning  I  had  hardly 
set  foot  outside  the  door  since  you  left.  Please  do  tell  me  when 
I  am  to  come. — Very  affectionately  yours,  Eunice.' 

'John  Street, 

October  25,  1864. 

'My  dear  Husband, — Why  don't  you  write?  Do  you  hate 
me?  I  have  not  had  the  heart  to  do  anything  this  last  week. 
That  I,  your  wife,  should  be  in  this  strait,  and  my  husband  well 
to  do !  I  have  been  obliged  to  leave  my  first  lodging  for  debt — 
among  other  things,  they  charged  me  for  a  lot  of  brandy  which  I 
am  quite  sure  I  did  not  taste.  Then  I  went  to  Camberwcll  and 
408 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

was  found  out  by  them.  I  went  away  privately  from  thence,  and 
changed  my  name  the  second  time.  I  am  now  Mrs.  Rondley.  But 
the  new  lodging  was  the  wretchedest  and  dearest  I  ever  set  foot 
in,  and  I  left  it  after  being  there  only  a  day.  I  am  now  at  No.  20 
in  the  same  street  that  you  left  me  in  originally.  All  last  night  the 
sash  of  my  window  rattled  so  dreadfully  that  I  could  not  sleep, 
but  I  had  not  energy  enough  to  get  out  of  bed  to  stop  it.  This 
morning  I  have  been  walking — I  don't  know  how  far — but  far 
enough  to  make  my  feet  ache.  I  have  been  looking  at  the  outside 
of  two  or  three  of  the  theatres,  but  they  seem  forbidding  if  I  regard 
them  with  the  eye  of  an  actress  in  search  of  an  engagement. 
Though  you  said  I  was  to  think  no  more  of  the  stage,  I  believe 
you  would  not  care  if  you  found  me  there.  But  I  am  not  an 
actress  by  nature,  and  art  will  never  make  me  one.  I  am  too 
timid  and  retiring  ;  I  was  intended  for  a  cottager's  wife.  I  cer- 
tainly shall  not  try  to  go  on  the  boards  again  whilst  I  am  in  this 
strange  place.  The  idea  of  being  brought  on  as  far  as  London 
and  then  left  here  alone  1  Why  didn't  you  leave  me  in  Liverpool  ? 
Perhaps  you  thought  I  might  have  told  somebody  that  my  real 
name  was  Mrs.  Manston.  As  if  I  had  a  living  friend  to  whom  I 
could  impart  it — no  such  good  fortune  I  In  fact,  my  nearest  friend 
is  no  nearer  than  what  most  people  would  call  a  stranger.  But 
perhaps  I  ought  to  tell  you  that  a  week  before  I  wrote  my  last 
letter  to  you,  after  wishing  that  my  uncle  and  aunt  in  Philadelphia 
(the  only  near  relatives  I  had)  were  still  alive,  I  suddenly  resolved 
to  send  a  line  lo  my  cousin  James,  who,  I  believe,  is  still  living  in 
that  neighbourhood.  He  has  never  seen  me  since  we  were  babies 
together.  I  did  not  tell  him  of  my  marriage,  because  I  thought 
you  might  not  like  it,  and  I  gave  my  real  maiden  name,  and  an 
address  at  the  post-office  here.  But  God  knows  if  the  letter  will 
ever  reach  him, 

'  Do  write  me  an  answer,  and  send  something. — Your  affec- 
tionate wife,  Eunice.' 


'  Friday,  October  28. 

*My  pear  Husband, — The  order  for  ten  pounds  has  just  come, 
and  I  am  truly  glad  to  get  it.  But  why  will  you  write  so  bitterly? 
Ah — well,  if  I  had  only  had  the  money  I  should  have  been  on  my 
way  to  America  by  this  time,  so  don't  think  I  want  to  bore  you  of 
my  own  free-will.  Who  can  you  have  met  with  at  that  new  placo? 
409 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Remember  I  say  this  in  no  malignant  tone,  but  certainly  the  facts 
go  to  prove  that  you  have  deserted  me  !  You  .ire  inconstant — I 
know  it.  O,  why  are  you  so  ?  Now  I  have  lost  you,  I  love  you 
in  spite  of  your  neglect.  I  am  weakly  fond — that's  my  nature.  I 
fear  that  upon  the  whole  my  life  has  been  wasted.  I  know  there 
is  another  woman  supplanting  me  in  your  heart — yes,  I  know  it. 
Come  to  me — do  come.  Ei;nice.' 


-  *4i  Charles  Square,  Hoxton, 
November  19. 

'  Dear  ^^neas, — Here  I  am  back  again  after  my  visit.  Why 
should  you  have  been  so  enraged  at  my  finding  your  exact  address? 
Any  woman  would  have  tried  to  do  it — you  know  she  would  have. 
And  no  woman  would  have  lived  under  assumed  names  so  long  as  I 
did.  I  repeat  that  I  did  not  call  myself  Mrs.  Manston  until  I  came 
to  this  lodging  at  the  beginning  of  this  month — what  could  you 
expect  ? 

'  A  helpless  creature  I,  had  not  fortune  favoured  me  unexpectedly. 
Banished  as  I  was  from  your  house  at  dawn,  I  did  not  suppose  the 
indignity  was  about  to  lead  to  important  results.  But  in  crossing 
the  park  I  overheard  the  conversation  of  a  young  man  and  woman 
who  had  also  risen  early.  I  believe  her  to  be  the  girl  who  has  won 
you  away  from  me.  Well,  their  conversation  concerned  you  and 
Miss  Aldclyffe,  very  peculiarly.  The  remarkable  thing  is  that  you 
yourself,  without  knowing  it,  told  me  of  what,  added  to  their  con- 
versation, completely  reveals  a  secret  to  me  that  neither  of  you 
understand.  Two  negatives  never  made  such  a  telling  positive 
before.  One  clue  more,  and  you  would  see  it.  A  single  considera- 
tion prevents  my  revealing  it — ^just  one  doubt  as  to  whether  your 
ignorance  was  real,  and  was  not  feigned  to  deceive  me.  Civility 
now,  please.  Eunice.* 


'41  Charles  Square, 

Tuesday ,  November  22. 

*  My  darling  Husband, — Monday  will  suit  me  excellently 
for  coming.  I  have  acted  exactly  up  to  your  instructions,  and  have 
sold  my  rubbish  at  the  broker's  in  the  next  street.  All  this  move- 
ment and  bustle  is  delightful  to  me  after  the  weeks  of  monotony  I 
have  endured.  It  is  a  relief  to  wish  the  place  good-bye — London 
410 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

always  has  seemed  so  much  more  foreign  to  me  than  Liverpool. 
The  mid-day  train  on  Monday  will  do  nicely  for  me.  I  shall  be 
anxiously  looking  out  for  you  on  Sunday  night. 

'  I  hope  so  much  that  you  are  not  angry  with  me  for  writing  to 
Miss  Aldciyffe.  You  are  not,  dear,  are  you  ?  Forgive  me. — Your 
loving  wife,  Eunice.' 

This  was  the  last  of  the  letters  from  the  wife  to  the 
husband.  One  other,  in  Mrs.  Mansion's  handwriting, 
and  in  the  same  packet,  was  differently  addressed. 

'Three  Tranters  Inn,  Carriford, 
November  28,  1864. 

'  Dear  Cousin  James, — Thank  you  indeed  for  answering  my 
letter  so  promptly.  When  I  called  at  the  post-office  yesterday  I 
did  not  in  the  least  think  there  would  be  one.  But  I  must  leave 
this  subject.  I  write  again  at  once  under  the  strangest  and  saddest 
conditions  it  is  possible  to  conceive. 

'  I  did  not  tell  you  in  my  last  that  I  was  a  married  woman. 
Don't  blame  me — it  was  my  husband's  influence.  I  hardly  know 
where  to  begin  my  story.  I  had  been  living  apart  from  him  for  a 
time — then  he  sent  for  me  (this  was  last  week)  and  I  was  glad  to 
go  to  him.  Then  this  is  what  he  did.  He  promised  to  fetch  me, 
and  did  not — leaving  me  to  do  the  journey  alone.  He  promised  to 
meet  me  at  the  station  here— he  did  not.  I  went  on  through  the 
darkness  to  his  house,  and  found  his  door  locked  and  himself  away 
from  home.  I  have  been  obliged  to  come  here,  and  I  write  to  you 
in  a  strange  room  in  a  strange  village  inn  !  I  choose  the  present 
moment  to  write  to  drive  away  my  misery.  Sorrow  seems  a  sort  of 
pleasure  when  you  detail  it  on  paper — poor  pleasure  though. 

'  But  this  is  what  I  want  to  know — and  I  am  ashamed  to  tell  it. 
I  would  gladly  do  as  you  say,  and  come  to  you  as  a  housekeeper, 
but  I  have  not  the  money  even  for  a  steerage  passage.  James,  do 
you  want  me  badly  enough — do  you  pity  me  enough  to  send  it?  I 
could  manage  to  subsist  in  London  upon  the  proceeds  of  my  sale 
for  another  month  or  six  weeks.  Will  you  send  it  to  the  same 
address  at  the  post-office  ?     But  how  do  I  know  that  you  .  .  .' 

Thus  the  letter  ended.     From  creases  in  the  paper 
it  was  plain  that  the  writer,   having  got   so  far,   had 
411 


.DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

become  dissatisfied  with  her  production,  and  had 
crumpled  it  in  her  hand.  Was  it  to  w^te  another,  or 
not  to  write  at  all  ? 

The  next  thing  Anne  Seaway  perceived  was  that  the 
fragmentary  story  she  had  coaxed  out  of  Manston,  to 
the  effect  that  his  wife  had  left  England  for  America, 
might  be  truthful,  according  to  two  of  these  letters, 
corroborated  by  the  evidence  of  the  railway-porter.  And 
yet,  at  first,  he  had  sworn  in  a  passion  that  his  wife  was 
most  certainly  consumed  in  the  fire. 

If  she  had  been  burnt,  this  letter,  written  in  her 
bedroom,  and  probably  thrust  into  her  pocket  when  she 
reUnquished  it,  would  have  been  burnt  with  her.  Nothing 
was  surer  than  that.  Why,  then,  did  he  say  she  was 
burnt,  and  never  show  Anne  herself  this  letter  ? 

The  question  suddenly  raised  a  new  and  much 
stranger  one — kindUng  a  burst  of  amazement  in  her. 
How  did  Manston  become  possessed  of  this  letter  ? 

That  fact  of  possession  was  certainly  the  most  re- 
markable revelation  of  all  in  connection  with  this  epistle, 
and  perhaps  had  something  to  do  with  his  reason  for 
never  showing  it  to  her. 

She  knew  by  several  proofs,  that  before  his  marriage 
with  Cytherea,  and  up  to  the  time  of  the  porter's  con- 
fession, Manston  believed  —  honestly  believed  —  that 
Cytherea  would  be  his  lawful  wife,  and  hence,  of  course, 
that  his  wife  Eunice  was  dead.  So  that  no  communica- 
tion could  possibly  have  passed  between  his  wife  and 
himself  from  the  first  moment  that  he  beUeved  her  dead 
on  the  night  of  the  fire,  to  the  day  of  his  wedding.  And 
yet  he  had  that  letter.  How  soon  afterwards  could  they 
have  communicated  with  each  other? 

The  existence  of  the  letter — as  much  as,  or  more 
than  its  contents— implying  that  Mrs  Manston  was  not 
burnt,  his  belief  in  that  calamity  must  have  terminated 
at  the  moment  he  obtained  possession  of  the  letter,  if 
no  earlier.  Was,  then,  the  only  solution  to  the  riddle 
412 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

that  Anne  could  discern,  the  true  one? — that  he  had 
communicated  with  his  wife  somewhere  about  the  com- 
mencement of  Anne's  residence  with  him,  or  at  any  time 
since  ? 

It  was  the  most  unlikely  thing  on  earth  that  a 
woman  who  had  forsaken  her  husband  should  counte- 
nance his  scheme  to  personify  her — whether  she  were 
in  America,  in  London,  or  in  the  neighbourhood  of 
Knapwater. 

Then  came  the  old  and  harassing  question,  what  was 
Manston's  real  motive  in  risking  his  name  on  the  decep- 
tion he  was  practising  as  regarded  Anne.  It  could  not 
be,  as  he  had  always  pretended,  mere  passion.  Her 
thoughts  had  reverted  to  Mr.  Raunham's  letter,  asking 
for  proofs  of  her  identity  with  the  original  Mrs.  Manston. 
She  could  see  no  loophole  of  escape  for  the  man  who 
supported  her.  True,  in  her  own  estimation,  his  worst 
alternative  was  not  so  very  bad  after  all — the  getting  the 
name  of  libertine,  a  possible  appearance  in  the  divorce 
or  some  other  court  of  law,  and  a  question  of  damages. 
Such  an  exposure  might  hinder  his  worldly  progress  for 
some  time.  Yet  to  him  this  alternative  was,  apparently, 
terrible  as  death  itself. 

She  restored  the  letters  to  their  hiding-place,  scanned 
anew  the  other  letters  and  memoranda,  from  which  she 
could  gain  no  fresh  information,  fastened  up  the  cabinet, 
and  left  everything  in  its  former  condition. 

Her  mind  was  ill  at  ease.  More  than  ever  she 
wished  that  she  had  never  seen  Manston.  Where  the 
person  suspected  of  mysterious  moral  obliquity  is  the 
possessor  of  great  physical  and  intellectual  attractions, 
the  mere  sense  of  incongruity  adds  an  extra  shudder  to 
dread.  The  man's  strange  bearing  terrified  Anne  as  it 
had  terrified  Cytherea ;  for  with  all  the  woman  Anne's 
faults,  she  had  not  descended  to  such  depths  of  depravit}' 
as  to  willingly  participate  in  crime.  She  had  not  even 
known  that  a  living  wife  was  being  displaced  till  her 
413 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

arrival  at  Knapwater  put  retreat  out  of  the  question, 
and  had  looked  upon  personation  sinriply  as  a  mode  of 
subsistence  a  degree  better  than  toiling  in  poverty  and 
alone,  after  a  bustling  and  somewhat  pampered  life  as 
housekeeper  in  a  gay  mansion. 

'  Non  ilia  colo  calathisve  Minervae 
FcEmineas  assueta  manus.' 


2.  Afternoon 

Mr.  Raunham  and  Edward  Springrove  had  by  this 
time  set  in  motion  a  machinery  which  they  hoped  to 
find  working  out  important  results. 

The  rector  was  restless  and  full  of  meditation  all  the 
following  morning.  It  was  plain,  even  to  the  servants 
about  him,  that  Springrove's  communication  wore  a 
deeper  complexion  than  any  that  had  been  made  to  the 
old  magistrate  for  many  months  or  years  past.  The 
fact  was  that,  having  arrived  at  the  stage  of  existence  in 
which  the  difficult  intellectual  feat  of  suspending  one's 
judgment  becomes  possible,  he  was  now  putting  it  in 
practice,  though  not  without  the  penalty  of  watchful 
effort. 

It  was  not  till  the  afternoon  that  he  determined  to 
call  on  his  relative.  Miss  Aldclyffe,  and  cautiously 
probe  her  knowledge  of  the  subject  occupying  him  so 
thoroughly.  Cytherea,  he  knew,  was  still  beloved  by 
this  solitary  woman.  Miss  Aldclyffe  had  made  several 
private  inquiries  concerning  her  former  companion,  and 
there  was  ever  a  sadness  in  her  tone  when  the  young 
lady's  name  was  mentioned,  which  showed  that  from 
whatever  cause  the  elder  Cytherea's  renunciation  of  her 
favourite  and  namesake  proceeded,  it  was  not  from 
indifference  to  her  fate. 

'  Have  you  ever  had  any  reason  for  supposing  your 
414 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

Steward  anything  but  an  upright  man  ?  '  he  said  to  the 
lady. 

*  Never  the  slightest.  Have  you  ? '  said  she  re- 
servedly. 

« Well— I  have.' 
'  What  is  it  ?  ' 

*  I  can  say  nothing  plainly,  because  nothing  is  proved. 
But  my  suspicions  are  very  strong.' 

'  Do  you  mean  that  he  was  rather  cool  towards  his 
wife  when  they  were  first  married,  and  that  it  was  unfair 
in  him  to  leave  her  ?  I  know  he  was ;  but  I  think  his 
recent  conduct  towards  her  has  amply  atoned  for  the 
neglect.' 

He  looked  Miss  Aldclyffe  full  in  the  face.  It  was 
plain  that  she  spoke  honestly.  She  had  not  the  slightest 
notion  that  the  woman  who  lived  with  the  steward  might 
be  other  than  Mrs.  Manston — much  less  that  a  greater 
matter  might  be  behind. 

'That's  not  it — I  wish  it  was  no  more.  My  sus- 
picion is,  first,  that  the  woman  living  at  the  Old  House 
is  not  Mr.  Manston's  wife.' 

'  Not — Mr.  Manston's  wife  ? ' 

'  That  is  it.' 

Miss  Aldclyfle  looked  blankly  at  the  rector.  '  Not 
Mr.  Manston's  wife — who  else  can  she  be  ?  '  she  said 
simply. 

'  An  improper  woman  of  the  name  of  Anne  Seaway.' 

Mr.  Raunham  had,  in  common  with  other  people, 
noticed  the  extraordinary  interest  of  Miss  Aldclyfle  in 
the  well-being  of  her  steward,  and  had  endeavoured  to 
account  for  it  in  various  ways.  The  extent  to  which 
she  was  shaken  by  his  information,  whilst  it  proved  that 
the  understanding  between  herself  and  Manston  did  not 
make  her  a  sharer  of  his  secrets,  also  showed  that  the 
lie  which  bound  her  to  him  was  still  unbroken.  Mr. 
Raunham  had  lately  begun  to  doubt  the  latter  fact,  and 
now,  on  finding  himself  mistaken,  regretted  that  he  had 
415 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

not  kept  his  own  counsel  in  the  matter.  This  it  was 
too  late  to  do,  and  he  pushed  on  with  his  proofs.  He 
gave  Miss  Aldclyffe  in  detail  the  grounds  of  his  belief. 

Before  he  had  done,  she  recovered  the  cloak  of  re- 
serve that  she  had  adopted  on  his  opening  the  subject. 

'  I  might  possibly  be  convinced  that  you  were  in  the 
right,  after  such  an  elaborate  argument,'  she  replied, 
•  were  it  not  for  one  fact,  which  bears  in  the  contrary 
direction  so  pointedly,  that  nothing  but  absolute  proof 
can  turn  it.  It  is  that  there  is  no  conceivable  motive 
which  could  induce  any  sane  man — leaving  alone  a  man 
of  Mr.  Manston's  clear-headedness  and  integrity — to 
venture  upon  such  an  extraordinary  course  of  conduct 
— no  motive  on  earth.' 

*  That  was  my  own  opinion  till  after  the  visit  of  a 
friend  last  night — a  friend  of  mine  and  poor  little 
Cytherea's.' 

'  Ah — and  Cytherea,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe,  catching  at 
the  idea  raised  by  the  name.  '  That  he  loved  Cytherea 
— yes  and  loves  her  now,  wildly  and  devotedly,  I  am  as 
positive  as  that  I  breathe.  Cytherea  is  years  younger 
than  Mrs.  Manston — as  I  shall  call  her — twice  as  sweet 
in  disposition,  three  times  as  beautiful.     Would  he  have 

given  her  up  quietly  and  suddenly  for  a  common . 

Mr.  Raunham,  your  story  is  monstrous,  and  I  don't 
believe  it ! '     She  glowed  in  her  earnestness. 

The  rector  might  now  have  advanced  his  second 
proposition — the  possible  motive — but  for  reasons  of 
his  own  he  did  not. 

'  Very  well,  madam.  I  only  hope  that  facts  will 
sustain  you  in  your  belief.  Ask  him  the  question  to 
his  face,  whether  the  woman  is  his  wife  or  no,  and  see 
how  he  receives  it.' 

'  I  will  to-morrow,  most  certainly,'  she  said.  '  I 
always  let  these  things  die  of  wholesome  ventilation,  as 
every  fungus  does.' 

But  no  sooner  had  the  rector  left  her  presence,  than 
416 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  grain  of  mustard-seed  he  had  sown  grew  to  a  tree. 
Her  impatience  to  set  her  mind  at  rest  could  not  brook 
a  night's  delay.  It  was  with  the  utmost  difficulty  that 
she  could  wait  till  evening  arrived  to  screen  her  move- 
ments. Immediately  the  sun  had  dropped  behind  the 
horizon,  and  before  it  was  quite  dark,  she  wrapped  her 
cloak  around  her,  softly  left  the  house,  and  walked  erect 
through  the  gloomy  park  in  the  direction  of  the  old 
manor-house. 

The  same  minute  saw  two  persons  sit  down  in 
the  rectory-house  to  share  the  rector's  usually  solitary 
dinner.  One  was  a  man  of  official  appearance,  common- 
place in  all  except  his  eyes.  The  other  was  Edward 
Springrove. 

The  discovery  of  the  carefully  -  concealed  letters 
rankled  in  the  mind  of  Anne  Seaway.  Her  woman's 
nature  insisted  that  Manston  had  no  right  to  keep  all 
matters  connected  with  his  lost  wife  a  secret  from 
herself  Perplexity  had  bred  vexation ;  vexation,  re- 
sentment ;  curiosity  had  been  continuous.  The  whole 
morning  this  resentment  and  curiosity  increased. 

The  steward  said  very  little  to  his  companion  during 
their  luncheon  at  mid-day.  He  seemed  reckless  of 
appearances — almost  indifferent  to  whatever  fate  awaited 
him.  All  his  actions  betrayed  that  something  portentous 
was  impending,  and  still  he  explained  nothing.  By  care- 
fully observing  every  trifling  action,  as  only  a  woman  can 
observe  them,  the  thought  at  length  dawned  upon  her 
that  he  was  going  to  run  away  secretly.  She  feared  for 
herself;  her  knowledge  of  law  and  justice  was  vague, 
and  she  fancied  she  might  in  some  way  be  made  respon- 
sible for  him. 

In  the  afternoon  he  went  out  of  the  house  again, 

and  she  watched  him  drive  away  in  the  direction  of  the 

county-town.     She  felt  a  desire  to  go  there  herself,  and, 

after  an  interval  of  half-an-hour,  followed  him  on  foot 

417  2  D 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

notwithstanding  the  distance — ostensibly  to  do  some 
shopping. 

One  among  her  several  trivial  errands  was  to  make 
a  small  purchase  at  the  druggist's.  Near  the  druggist's 
stood  the  County  Bank.  Looking  out  of  the  shop 
window,  between  the  coloured  bottles,  she  saw  Manston 
come  down  the  steps  of  the  bank,  in  the  act  of  with- 
drawing his  hand  from  his  pocket,  and  pulling  his  coat 
close  over  its  mouth. 

It  is  an  almost  universal  habit  with  people,  when 
leaving  a  bank,  to  be  carefully  adjusting  their  pockets 
if  they  have  been  receiving  money ;  if  they  have  been 
paying  it  in,  their  hands  swing  laxly.  The  steward  had 
in  all  likelihood  been  taking  money — possibly  on  Miss 
Aldclyffe's  account — that  was  continual  with  him.  And 
he  might  have  been  removing  his  own,  as  a  man  would 
do  who  was  intending  to  leave  the  country. 


3.  From  Five  to  Eight  o'clock  p.m. 

Anne  reached  home  again  in  time  to  preside  over 
preparations  for  dinner.  Manston  came  in  half-an-hour 
later.  The  lamp  was  lighted,  the  shutters  were  closed, 
and  they  sat  down  together.  He  was  pale  and  worn — 
almost  haggard. 

The  meal  passed  off  in  almost  unbroken  silence. 
When  preoccupation  withstands  the  influence  of  a  social 
meal  with  one  pleasant  companion,  the  mental  scene 
must  be  surpassingly  vivid.  Just  as  she  was  rising  a 
tap  came  to  the  door. 

Before  a  maid  could  attend  to  the  knock,  Manston 
crossed  the  room  and  answered  it  himself.  The  visitor 
was  Miss  Aldclyffe. 

Manston  instantly  came  back  and  spoke  to  Anne  in 
an  undertone.     '  I  should  be  glad  if  you  could  retire  to 
your  room  for  a  short  time.' 
418 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'  It  is  a  dry,  starlight  evening,'  she  replied.  '  I  will 
go  for  a  little  walk  if  your  object  is  merely  a  private  con- 
versation with  Miss  Aldclyffe.' 

'  Very  well,  do ;  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes,'  he 
said.  A  few  commonplaces  then  passed  between  her 
and  Miss  Aldclyffe,  and  Anne  went  upstairs  to  bonnet 
and  cloak  herself.  She  came  down,  opened  the  front 
door,  and  went  out. 

She  looked  around  to  realize  the  night.  It  was 
dark,  mournful,  and  quiet.  Then  she  stood  still. 
From  the  moment  that  Manston  had  requested  her 
absence,  a  strong  and  burning  desire  had  prevailed  in 
her  to  know  the  subject  of  Miss  Aldclyffe's  conversation 
with  him.  Simple  curiosity  was  not  entirely  what  in- 
spired her.  Her  suspicions  had  been  thoroughly  aroused 
by  the  discovery  of  the  morning.  A  conviction  that  her 
future  depended  on  her  power  to  combat  a  man  who, 
in  desperate  circumstances,  would  be  far  from  a  friend 
to  her,  prompted  a  strategic  movement  to  acquire  the 
important  secret  that  was  in  handling  now.  The 
woman  thought  and  thought,  and  regarded  the  dull 
dark  trees,  anxiously  debating  how  the  thing  could  be 
done. 

Stealthily  re-opening  the  front  door  she  entered  the 
hall,  and  advancing  and  pausing  alternately,  came  close 
to  the  door  of  the  room  in  which  Miss  Aldclyffe  and 
Manston  conversed.  Nothing  could  be  heard  through 
the  keyhole  or  panels.  At  a  great  risk  she  softly  turned 
the  knob  and  opened  the  door  to  a  width  of  about 
half-an-inch,  performing  the  act  so  delicately  that  three 
minutes,  at  least,  were  occupied  in  completing  it.  At 
that  instant  Miss  Aldclyffe  said — 

'  There's  a  draught  somewhere.  The  door  is  ajar, 
I  think.' 

Anne  glided  back  under  the  staircase.  Manston 
came  forward  and  closed  the  door.  This  chance  was 
now  cut  off,  and  she  considered  again.  The  parlour, 
419 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

or  sitting-room,  in  which  the  conference  took  place,  had 
the  window-shutters  fixed  on  the  outside  of  the  window, 
as  is  usual  in  the  back  portions  of  old  country-houses. 
The  shutters  were  hinged  one  on  each  side  of  the  open- 
ing, and  met  in  the  middle,  where  they  were  fastened 
by  a  bolt  passing  continuously  through  them  and  the 
wood  muUion  within,  the  bolt  being  secured  on  the 
inside  by  a  pin,  which  was  seldom  inserted  till  Manston 
and  herself  were  about  to  retire  for  the  night ;  some- 
times not  at  all. 

If  she  returned  to  the  door  of  the  room  she  might 
be  discovered  at  any  moment,  but  could  she  listen  at 
the  window,  which  overlooked  a  part  of  the  garden 
never  visited  after  nightfall,  she  would  be  safe  from  dis- 
turbance.    The  idea  was  worth  a  trial. 

She  glided  round  to  the  window,  took  the  head  of  the 
bolt  between  her  finger  and  thumb,  and  softly  screwed 
it  round  until  it  was  entirely  withdrawn  from  its  posi- 
tion. The  shutters  remained  as  before,  whilst,  where 
the  bolt  had  come  out,  was  now  a  shining  hole  three- 
quarters  of  an  inch  in  diameter,  through  which  one 
might  see  into  the  middle  of  the  room.  She  applied 
her  eye  to  the  orifice. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  and  Manston  were  both  standing; 
Manston  with  his  back  to  the  window,  his  companion 
facing  it.  The  lady's  demeanour  was  severe,  condem- 
natory, and  haughty.  No  more  was  to  be  seen ;  Anne 
then  turned  sideways,  leant  with  her  shoulder  against 
the  shutters  and  placed  her  ear  upon  the  hole. 

'  You  know  where,'  said  Miss  Aldclyffe.  '  And  how 
could  you,  a  man,  act  a  double  deceit  like  this  ? ' 

'  Men  do  strange  things  sometimes.' 

'  What  was  your  reason — come  ?  ' 

'  A  mere  whim.' 

•  I    might    even    believe    that,    if   the    woman    were 
handsomer  than  Cytherea,  or  if  you  had  been  married 
some  time  to  Cytherea  and  had  grown  tired  of  her.' 
420 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  And  can't  you  believe  it,  too,  under  these  condi- 
tions ;  that  I  married  Cythcrea,  gave  her  up  because  I 
heard  that  my  wife  was  alive,  found  that  my  wife  would 
not  come  to  live  with  me,  and  then,  not  to  let  any 
woman  I  love  so  well  as  Cytherea  run  any  risk  of  being 
displaced  and  ruined  in  reputation,  should  my  wife 
ever  think  fit  to  return,  induced  this  woman  to  come  to 
me,  as  being  better  than  no  companion  at  all  ? ' 

'  I  cannot  believe  it.  Your  love  for  Cytherea  was 
not  of  such  a  kind  as  that  excuse  would  imply.  It  was 
Cytherea  or  nobody  with  you.  As  an  object  of  passion, 
you  did  not  desire  the  company  of  this  Anne  Seaway 
at  all,  and  certainly  not  so  much  as  to  madly  risk  your 
reputation  by  bringing  her  here  in  the  way  you  have 
done.     I  am  sure  you  didn't,  .^neas.' 

'  So  am  I,'  he  said  bluntly. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  uttered  an  exclamation  of  astonish- 
ment ;  the  confession  was  like  a  blow  in  its  suddenness. 
She  began  to  reproach  him  bitterly,  and  with  tears. 

'  How  could  you  overthrow  my  plans,  disgrace  the 
only  girl  I  ever  had  any  respect  for,  by  such  inexplicable 
doings  !  .  .  .  That  woman  must  leave  this  place — the 
country  perhaps.  Heavens  !  the  truth  will  leak  out  in 
a  day  or  two  ! ' 

'  She  must  do  no  such  thing,  and  the  truth  must  be 
stifled  somehow — nobody  knows  how.  If  I  stay  here, 
or  on  any  spot  of  the  civilized  globe,  as  /Eneas  Manston, 
this  woman  must  live  with  me  as  my  wife,  or  I  am 
damned  past  redemption  ! ' 

'  I  will  not  countenance  your  keeping  her,  whatever 
your  motive  may  be.' 

'  You  must  do  something,'  he  murmured.  '  You 
must.     Yes,  you  must.' 

'  I  never  will,'  she  said.     '  It  is  a  criminal  act.' 

He  looked  at  her  earnestly.  '  Will  you  not  support 
me  through  this  deception  if  my  very  life  depends  upon 
it  ?     Will  you  not  ? ' 

a  E  421 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'Nonsense!  Life!  It  will  be  a  scandal  to  you, 
but  she  must  leave  this  place.  It  will  out  sooner  or 
later,  and  the  exposure  had  better  come  now.' 

Manston  repeated  gloomily  the  same  words.  '  My 
life  depends  upon  your  supporting  me — my  very  life.' 

He  then  came  close  to  her,  and  spoke  into  her  ear. 
Whilst  he  spoke  he  held  her  head  to  his  mouth  with 
both  his  hands.  Strange  expressions  came  over  her 
face ;  the  workings  of  her  mouth  were  painful  to  observe. 
Still  he  held  her  and  whispered  on. 

The  only  words  that  could  be  caught  by  Anne 
Seaway,  confused  as  her  hearing  frequently  was  by  the 
moan  of  the  wind  and  the  waterfall  in  her  outer  ear, 
were  these  of  Miss  Aldclyffe,  in  tones  which  absolutely 
quivered :  *  They  have  no  money.  What  can  they 
prove  ? ' 

The  listener  tasked  herself  to  the  utmost  to  catch  his 
answer,  but  it  was  in  vain.  Of  the  remainder  of  the 
colloquy  one  fact  alone  was  plain  to  Anne,  and  that 
only  inductively — that  Miss  Aldclyffe,  from  what  he  had 
revealed  to  her,  was  going  to  scheme  body  and  soul  on 
Manston's  behalf. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  seemed  now  to  have  no  further  reason 
for  remaining,  yet  she  lingered  awhile  as  if  loth  to  leave 
him.  When,  finally,  the  crestfallen  and  agitated  lady 
made  preparations  for  departure,  Anne  quickly  inserted 
the  bolt,  ran  round  to  the  entrance  archway,  and  down 
the  steps  into  the  park.  Here  she  stood  close  to  the 
trunk  of  a  huge  lime-tree,  which  absorbed  her  dark 
outline  into  its  own. 

In  a  few  minutes  she  saw  Manston,  with  Miss 
Aldclyffe  leaning  on  his  arm,  cross  the  glade  before  her 
and  proceed  in  the  direction  of  the  house.  She  watched 
them  ascend  the  rise  and  advance,  as  two  black  spots, 
towards  the  mansion.  The  appearance  of  an  oblong 
space  of  light  in  the  dark  mass  of  walls  denoted  that 
the  door  was  opened.  Miss  Aldclyffe's  outline  became 
422, 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

visible  upon  it ;  the  door  shut  her  in,  and  all  was  dark- 
ness again.  The  form  of  Manston  returning  alone 
arose  from  the  gloom,  and  passed  by  Anne  in  her  hiding- 
place. 

Waiting  outside  a  quarter  of  an  hour  longer,  that  no 
suspicion  of  any  kind  might  be  excited,  Anne  returned 
to  the  old  manor-house. 


4.  From  Eight  to  Eleven  o'clock  p.m. 

Manston  was  very  friendly  that  evening.  It  was 
evident  to  her,  now  that  she  was  behind  the  scenes,  that 
he  was  making  desperate  efforts  to  disguise  the  real 
state  of  his  mind. 

Her  terror  of  him  did  not  decrease.  They  sat  down 
to  supper,  Manston  still  talking  cheerfully.  But  what 
is  keener  than  the  eye  of  a  mistrustful  woman?  A 
man's  cunning  is  to  it  as  was  the  armour  of  Sisera  to 
the  thin  tent-nail.  She  found,  in  spite  of  his  adroitness, 
that  he  was  attempting  something  more  than  a  disguise 
of  his  feeling.  He  was  trying  to  distract  her  attention, 
that  he  might  be  unobserved  in  some  special  movement 
of  his  hands. 

What  a  moment  it  was  for  her  then  !  The  whole 
surface  of  her  body  became  attentive.  She  allowed  him 
no  chance  whatever.  We  know  the  duplicated  con- 
dition at  such  times — when  the  existence  divides  itself 
into  two,  and  the  ostensibly  innocent  chatterer  stands  in 
front,  like  another  person,  to  hide  the  timorous  spy. 

Manston  played  the  same  game,  but  more  palpably. 
The  meal  was  nearly  over  when  he  seemed  possessed  of 
a  new  idea  of  how  his  object  might  be  accomplished. 
He  tilted  back  his  chair  with  a  reflective  air,  and  looked 
steadily  at  the  clock  standing  against  the  wall  opposite 
to  him.  He  said  sententiously,  '  Few  faces  are  capable 
of  expressing  more  by  dumb  show  than  the  face  of  a 
423 


DESPEIL\TE    REMEDIES 


clock.  You  may  see  in  it  every  variety  of  incentive 
— from  the  softest  seductions  to  negligence  to.  the 
strongest  hints  for  action.' 

•  Well,  in  what  way  ? '  she  inquired.  His  drift  was, 
as  yet,  quite  unintelligible  to  her. 

'Why,  for  instance:  look  at  the  cold,  methodical, 
unromantic,  business-like  air  of  all  the  right-angled 
positions  of  the  hands.  They  make  a  man  set  about 
work  in  spite  of  himself.  Then  look  at  the  piquant 
shyness  of  its  face  when  the  two  hands  are  over  each 
other.  Several  attitudes  imply  "  Make  ready."  The 
"make  ready"  of  ten  minutes  to  one  differs  from  the 
"  make  ready  "  of  ten  minutes  to  twelve,  as  youth  differs 
from  age.  "  Upward  and  onward  "  says  twenty-five 
minutes  to  eleven.  Mid-day  or  midnight  expresses  dis- 
tinctly "  It  is  done."     You  surely  have  noticed  that  ? ' 

'  Yes,  I  have.' 

He  continued  with  affected  quaintness  : — 

'  The  easy  dash  of  ten  minutes  past  seven,  the  rakish 
recklessness  of  a  quarter  past,  the  drooping  weariness 
of  twenty-five  minutes  past,  must  have  been  observed 
by  everybody.' 

'Whatever  amount  of  truth  there  may  be,  there  is 
a  good  deal  of  imagination  in  your  fancy,'  she  said. 

He  still  contemplated  the  clock. 

'Then,  again,  the  general  finish  of  the  face  has  a 
great  effect  upon  the  eye.  This  old-fashioned  brass-faced 
one  we  have  here,  with  its  arched  top,  half-moon  slit 
for  the  day  of  the  month,  and  ship  rocking  at  the  upper 
part,  impresses  me  with  the  notion  of  its  being  an  old 
cynic,  elevating  his  brows,  whose  thoughts  can  be  seen 
wavering  between  good  and  evil. 

A  thought  now  enlightened  her :  the  clock  was  be- 
hind her,  and  he  wanted  to  get  her  back  turned.  She 
dreaded  turning,  yet,  not  to  excite  his  suspicion,  she  was 
on  her  guard  ;  she  quickly  looked  behind  her  at  the  clock 
as  he  spoke,  recovering  her  old  position  again  instantly 
424 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  time  had  not  been  long  enough  for  any  action 
whatever  on  his  part, 

'  Ah,'  he  casually  remarked,  and  at  the  same  minute 
began  to  pour  her  out  a  glass  of  wine.  '  Speaking  of 
the  clock  has  reminded  me  that  it  must  nearly  want 
winding  up.  Remember  that  it  is  wound  to-night. 
Suppose  you  do  it  at  once,  my  dear.' 

There  was  no  possible  way  of  evading  the  act.  She 
resolutely  turned  to  perform  the  operation  :  anything  was 
better  than  that  he  should  suspect  her.  It  was  an  old- 
fashioned  eight-day  clock,  of  workmanship  suited  to  the 
rest  of  the  antique  furniture  that  Manston  had  collected 
there,  and  ground  heavily  during  winding. 

Anne  had  given  up  all  idea  of  being  able  to  watch 
him  during  the  interval,  and  the  noise  of  the  wheels 
prevented  her  learning  anything  by  her  ears.  But,  as 
she  wound,  she  caught  sight  of  his  shadow  on  the  wall  at 
her  right  hand. 

What  was  he  doing?  He  was  in  the  very  act  of 
pouring  something  into  her  glass  of  wine. 

He  had  completed  the  manoeuvre  before  she  had  done 
winding.  She  methodically  closed  the  clock-case  and 
turned  round  again.  When  she  faced  him  he  was  sitting 
in  his  chair  as  before  she  had  risen. 

In  a  familiar  scene  which  has  hitherto  been  pleasant 
it  is  difficult  to  realize  that  an  added  condition,  which 
does  not  alter  its  aspect,  can  have  made  it  terrible.  The 
woman  thought  that  his  action  must  have  been  prompted 
by  no  other  intent  than  that  of  poisoning  her,  and  yet 
she  could  not  instantly  put  on  a  fear  of  her  position. 

And  before  she  had  grasped  these  consequences, 
another  supposition  served  to  make  her  regard  the  first 
as  unlikely,  if  not  absurd.  It  was  the  act  of  a  madman 
to  take  her  life  in  a  manner  so  easy  of  discovery,  unless 
there  were  far  more  reason  for  the  crime  than  any  that 
Manston  could  possibly  have. 

Was  it  not  merely  his  intention,  in  tampering  with 
425 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

her  wine,  to  make  her  sleep  soundly  that  night  ?  This 
was  in  harmony  with  her  original  suspicion,  that  he  in- 
tended secretly  to  abscond.  At  any  rate,  he  was  going 
to  set  about  some  stealthy  proceeding,  as  to  which  she 
was  to  be  kept  in  utter  darkness.  The  difficulty  now  was 
to  avoid  drinking  the  wine. 

By  means  of  one  pretext  and  another  she  put  off 
taking  her  glass  for  nearly  five  minutes,  but  he  eyed  her 
too  frequently  to  allow  her  to  throw  the  potion  under 
the  grate.  It  became  necessary  to  take  one  sip.  This 
she  did,  and  found  an  opportunity  of  absorbing  it  in 
her  handkerchief. 

Plainly  he  had  no  idea  of  her  countermoves.  The 
scheme  seemed  to  him  in  proper  train,  and  he  turned 
to  poke  out  the  fire.  She  instantly  seized  the  glass,  and 
poured  its  contents  down  her  bosom.  When  he  faced 
round  again  she  was  holding  the  glass  to  her  lips,  empty. 

In  due  course  he  locked  the  doors  and  saw  that  the 
shutters  were  fastened.  She  attended  to  a  few  closing 
details  of  housewifery,  and  a  few  minutes  later  they 
retired  for  the  night. 


5.  From  Eleven  o'clock  to  Midnight 

When  Manston  was  persuaded,  by  the  feigned  heavi- 
ness of  her  breathing,  that  Anne  Seaway  was  asleep,  he 
softly  arose,  and  dressed  himself  in  the  gloom.  With 
ears  strained  to  their  utmost  she  heard  him  complete 
this  operation ;  then  he  took  something  from  his  pocket, 
put  it  in  the  drawer  of  the  dressing-table,  went  to  the 
door,  and  down  the  stairs.  She  glided  out  of  bed  and 
looked  in  the  drawer.  He  had  only  restored  to  its  place 
a  small  phial  she  had  seen  there  before.  It  was  labelled 
'  Battley's  Solution  of  Opium.'  She  felt  relieved  that 
her  life  had  not  been  attempted.  That  was  to  have 
been  her  sleeping-draught.  No  time  was  to  be  lost  if 
426 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

she  meant  to  be  a  match  for  him.  She  followed  him  in 
her  nightdress.  When  she  reached  the  foot  of  the  stair- 
case he  was  in  the  office  and  had  closed  the  door,  under 
which  a  faint  gleam  showed  that  he  had  obtained  a  light. 
She  crept  to  the  door,  but  could  not  venture  to  open 
it,  however  slightly.  Placing  her  ear  to  the  panel,  she 
could  hear  him  tearing  up  papers  of  some  sort,  and  a 
brighter  and  quivering  ray  of  light  coming  from  the 
threshold  an  instant  later,  implied  that  he  w^as  burning 
them.  By  the  slight  noise  of  his  footsteps  on  the 
uncarpeted  floor,  she  at  length  imagined  that  he  was 
approaching  the  door.  She  flitted  upstairs  again  and 
crept  into  bed. 

Manston  returned  to  the  bedroom  close  upon  her 
heels,  and  entered  it — again  without  a  light.  Standing 
motionless  for  an  instant  to  assure  himself  that  she  still 
slept,  he  went  to  the  drawer  in  which  their  ready-money 
was  kept,  and  removed  the  casket  that  contained  it. 
Anne's  ear  distinctly  caught  the  rustle  of  notes,  and  the 
chink  of  the  gold  as  he  handled  it.  Some  he  placed  in 
his  pocket,  some  he  returned  to  its  place.  He  stood 
thinking,  as  it  were  weighing  a  possibility.  While  linger- 
ing thus,  he  noticed  the  reflected  image  of  his  own  face 
in  the  glass — pale  and  spectre-like  in  its  indistinctness. 
The  sight  seemed  to  be  the  feather  which  turned  the 
balance  of  indecision  :  he  drew  a  heavy  breath,  retired 
from  the  room,  and  passed  downstairs.  She  heard  him 
unbar  the  back-door,  and  go  out  into  the  yard. 

Feeling  safe  in  a  conclusion  that  he  did  not  intend 
to  return  to  the  bedroom  again,  she  arose,  and  hastily 
dressed  herself.  On  going  to  the  door  of  the  apartment 
she  found  that  he  had  locked  it  behind  him.  '  A  pre- 
caution— it  can  be  no  more,'  she  muttered.  Yet  she 
was  all  the  more  perplexed  and  excited  on  this  account. 
Had  he  been  going  to  leave  home  immediately,  he  would 
scarcely  have  taken  the  trouble  to  lock  her  in,  holding 
the  belief  that  she  was  in  a  drugged  sleep.  The  lock 
427 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

shot  into  a  mortice,  so  that  there  was  no  possibility 
of  her  pushing  back  the  bolt.  How  should  she  follow 
him?  Easily.  An  inner  closet  opened  from  the  bed- 
room :  it  was  large,  and  had  some  time  heretofore  been 
used  as  a  dressing  or  bath  room,  but  had  been  found 
inconvenient  from  having  no  other  outlet  to  the  landing. 
The  window  of  this  little  room  looked  out  upon  the 
roof  of  the  porch,  which  was  flat  and  covered  with  lead. 
Anne  took  a  pillow  from  the  bed,  gently  opened  the 
casement  of  the  inner  room,  and  stepped  forth  on  the 
flat.  There,  leaning  over  the  edge  of  the  small  parapet 
that  ornamented  the  porch,  she  dropped  the  pillow  upon 
the  gravel  path,  and  let  herself  down  over  the  parapet 
by  her  hands  till  her  toes  swung  about  two  feet  from 
the  ground.  From  this  position  she  adroitly  alighted 
upon  the  pillow,  and  stood  in  the  path. 

Since  she  had  come  indoors  from  her  walk  in  the 
early  part  of  the  evening  the  moon  had  risen.  But  the 
thick  clouds  overspreading  the  whole  landscape  rendered 
the  dim  light  pervasive  and  grey :  it  appeared  as  an 
attribute  of  the  air.  Anne  crept  round  to  the  back  of 
the  house,  listening  intently.  The  steward  had  had  at 
least  ten  minutes'  start  of  her.  She  had  waited  here 
whilst  one  might  count  fifty,  when  she  heard  a  move- 
ment in  the  outhouse — a  fragment  once  attached  to  the 
main  building.  This  outhouse  was  partitioned  into  an 
outer  and  an  inner  room,  which  had  been  a  kitchen  and 
a  scullery  before  the  connecting  erections  were  pulled 
down,  but  they  were  now  used  respectively  as  a  brew- 
house  and  workshop,  the  only  means  of  access  to  the 
latter  being  through  the  brewhouse.  The  outer  door  of 
this  first  apartment  was  usually  fastened  by  a  padlock 
on  the  exterior.  It  was  now  closed,  but  not  fastened. 
Manston  was  evidently  in  the  outhouse. 

She   slightly  moved  the  door.     The  interior  of  the 
brewhouse  was  wrapped  in  gloom,  but  a  streak  of  light 
fell  towards  her  in  a  line  across  the  floor  from  the  inner 
428 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

or  workshop  door,  which  was  not  quite  closed.  This 
light  was  unexpected,  none  having  been  visible  through 
hole  or  crevice.  Glancing  in,  the  woman  found  that  he 
had  placed  cloths  and  mats  at  the  various  apertures, 
and  hung  a  sack  at  the  window  to  prevent  the  egress  of 
a  single  ray.  She  could  also  perceive  from  where  she 
stood  that  the  bar  of  light  fell  across  the  brewing-copper 
just  outside  the  inner  door,  and  that  upon  it  lay  the  key 
of  her  bedroom.  The  illuminated  interior  of  the  work- 
shop was  also  partly  visible  from  her  position  through 
the  two  half-open  doors.  Mansion  was  engaged  in 
emptying  a  large  cupboard  of  the  tools,  gallipots,  and 
old  iron  it  contained.  When  it  was  quite  cleared  he 
took  a  chisel,  and  with  it  began  to  withdraw  the  hooks 
and  shoulder-nails  holding  the  cupboard  to  the  wall. 
All  these  being  loosened,  he  extended  his  arms,  lifted 
the  cupboard  bodily  from  the  brackets  under  it,  and 
deposited  it  on  the  floor  beside  him. 

That  portion  of  the  wall  which  had  been  screened  by 
the  cupboard  was  now  laid  bare.  This,  it  appeared, 
had  been  plastered  more  recently  than  the  bulk  of  the 
outhouse.  Manston  loosened  the  plaster  with  some 
kind  of  tool,  flinging  the  pieces  into  a  basket  as  they 
fell.  Having  now  stripped  clear  about  two  feet  area  of 
wall,  he  inserted  a  crowbar  between  the  joints  of  the 
bricks  beneath,  softly  wriggling  it  until  several  were 
loosened.  There  was  now  disclosed  the  mouth  of  an 
old  oven,  which  was  apparently  contrived  in  the  thick- 
ness of  the  wall,  and  having  fallen  into  disuse,  had  been 
closed  up  with  bricks  in  this  manner.  It  was  formed 
after  the  simple  old-fashioned  plan  of  oven-building — a 
mere  oblate  cavity  without  a  flue. 

Manston  now  stretched  his  arm  into  the  oven,  dragged 
forth  a  heavy  weight  of  great  bulk,  and  let  it  slide  to  the 
ground.  The  woman  who  watched  him  could  see  the 
object  plainly.  It  was  a  common  corn-sack,  nearly  full, 
and  was  tied  at  the  mouth  in  the  usual  way. 
429 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  steward  had  once  or  twice  started  up,  as  if  he 
had  heard  sounds,  and  his  motions  now  became  more 
cat-like  still.  On  a  sudden  he  put  out  the  hght.  Anne 
had  made  no  noise,  yet  a  foreign  noise  of  some  kind 
had  certainly  been  made  in  the  intervening  portion  of 
the  house.  She  heard  it.  '  One  of  the  rats,'  she 
thought. 

He  seemed  soon  to  recover  from  his  alarm,  but 
changed  his  tactics  completely.  He  did  not  light  his 
candle — going  on  with  his  work  in  the  dark.  She  had 
only  sounds  to  go  by  now,  and,  judging  as  well  as  she 
could  from  these,  he  was  piling  up  the  bricks  which 
closed  the  oven's  mouth  as  they  had  been  before  he  dis- 
turbed them.  The  query  that  had  not  left  her  brain  all 
the  interval  of  her  inspection — how  should  she  get  back 
into  her  bedroom  again  ? — now  received  a  solution. 
Whilst  he  was  replacing  the  cupboard,  she  would  glide 
across  the  brewhouse,  take  the  key  from  the  top  of  the 
copper,  run  upstairs,  unlock  the  door,  and  bring  back 
the  key  again  :  if  he  returned  to  bed,  which  was  unlikely, 
he  would  think  the  lock  had  failed  to  catch  in  the  staple. 
This  thought  and  intention,  occupying  such  length  of 
words,  flashed  upon  her  in  an  instant,  and  hardly  dis- 
turbed her  strong  curiosity  to  stay  and  learn  the  meaning 
of  his  actions  in  the  workshop. 

Slipping  sideways  through  the  first  door  and  closing 
it  behind  her,  she  advanced  into  the  darkness  towards 
the  second,  making  every  individual  footfall  with  the 
greatest  care,  lest  the  fragments  of  rubbish  on  the  floor 
should  crackle  beneath  her  tread.  She  soon  stood  close 
by  the  copper,  and  not  more  than  a  foot  from  the  door 
of  the  room  occupied  by  Manston  himself,  from  which 
position  she  could  distinctly  hear  him  breathe  between 
each  exertion,  although  it  was  far  too  dark  to  discern 
anything  of  him. 

To  secure  the  key  of  her  chamber  was  her  first 
anxiety,  and  accordingly  she  cautiously  reached  out  with 
430 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

her  hand  to  where  it  lay.  Instead  of  touching  it,  her 
fingers  came  in  contact  with  the  boot  of  a  human  being. 

She  drooped  faint  in  a  cold  sweat.  It  was  the  foot 
either  of  a  man  or  woman,  standing  on  the  brewing- 
copper  where  the  key  had  lain.  A  warm  foot,  covered 
with  a  polished  boot. 

The  startling  discovery  so  terrified  her  that  she  could 
hardly  repress  a  sound.  She  withdrew  her  hand  with  a 
motion  like  the  flight  of  an  arrow.  Her  touch  was  so 
light  that  the  leather  seemed  to  have  been  thick  enough 
to  keep  the  owner  of  the  foot  in  entire  ignorance  of  it, 
and  the  noise  of  Manston's  scraping  might  have  been 
quite  sufficient  to  drown  the  slight  rustle  of  her  dress. 

The  person  was  obviously  not  the  steward  :  he  was 
still  busy.  It  was  somebody  who,  since  the  hght  had 
been  extinguished,  had  taken  advantage  of  the  gloom, 
to  come  from  some  dark  recess  in  the  brewhouse  and 
stand  upon  the  brickwork  of  the  copper.  The  fear 
which  had  at  first  paralyzed  her  lessened  with  the  birth 
of  a  sense  that  fear  now  was  utter  failure :  she  was  in  a 
desperate  position  and  must  abide  by  the  consequences. 
The  motionless  person  on  the  copper  was,  equally  with 
Manston,  quite  unconscious  of  her  proximity,  and  she 
ventured  to  advance  her  hand  again,  feeling  behind  the 
feet,  till  she  found  the  key.  On  its  return  to  her  side, 
her  finger-tip  skimmed  the  lower  verge  of  a  trousers-leg. 

It  was  a  man,  then,  who  stood  there.  To  go  to  the 
door  just  at  this  time  was  impohtic,  and  she  shrank 
back  into  an  inner  corner  to  wait.  The  comparative 
security  from  discovery  that  her  new  position  ensured 
resuscitated  reason  a  little,  and  empowered  her  to  form 
some  logical  inferences  : — 

1.  The  man  who  stood  on  the  copper  had  taken 
advantage  of  the  darkness  to  get  there,  as  she  had  to 
enter. 

2.  The  man  must  have  been  hidden  in  the  outhouse 
before  she  had  reached  the  door. 

431 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

3.  He  must  be  watching  Manston  with  much  calcu- 
lation and  system,  and  for  purposes  of  his  own. 

She  could  now  tell  by  the  noises  that  Manston  had 
completed  his  re-erection  of  the  cupboard.  She  heard 
him  replacing  the  articles  it  had  contained — bottle  by 
bottle,  tool  by  tool — after  which  he  came  into  the  brew- 
house,  went  to  the  window,  and  pulled  down  the  cloths 
covering  it;  but  the  window  being  rather  small,  this 
unveiling  scarcely  relieved  the  darkness  of  the  interior. 
He  returned  to  the  workshop,  hoisted  something  to  his 
back  by  a  jerk,  and  felt  about  the  room  for  some  other 
article.  Having  found  it,  he  emerged  from  the  inner 
door,  crossed  the  brewhouse,  and  went  into  the  yard. 
Directly  he  stepped  out  she  could  see  his  outline  by  the 
light  of  the  clouded  and  weakly  moon.  The  sack  was 
slung  at  his  back,  and  in  his  hand  he  carried  a  spade. 

Anne  now  waited  in  her  corner  in  breathless  suspense 
for  the  proceedings  of  the  other  man.  In  about  half-a- 
minute  she  heard  him  descend  from  the  copper,  and 
then  the  square  opening  of  the  doorway  showed  the 
outline  of  this  other  watcher  passing  through  it  likewise. 
The  form  was  that  of  a  broad-shouldered  man  enveloped 
in  a  long  coat.     He  vanished  after  the  steward. 

The  woman  vented  a  sigh  of  reUef,  and  moved  for- 
ward to  follow.  Simultaneously,  she  discovered  that  the 
watcher  whose  foot  she  had  touched  was,  in  his  turn, 
watched  and  followed  also. 

It  was  by  one  of  her  own  sex.  Anne  Seaway  shrank 
backward  again.  The  unknown  woman  came  forward 
from  the  further  side  of  the  yard,  and  pondered  awhile 
in  hesitation.  Tall,  dark,  and  closely  wrapped,  she  stood 
up  from  the  earth  Hke  a  cypress.  She  moved,  crossed 
the  yard  without  producing  the  slightest  disturbance  by 
her  footsteps,  and  went  in  the  direction  the  others  had 
taken. 

Anne  waited  yet  another  minute — then  in  her  turn 
noiselessly  followed  the  last  woman. 

432 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

But  so  impressed  was  she  with  the  sensation  of 
people  in  hiding,  that  in  coming  out  of  the  yard  she 
turned  her  head  to  see  if  any  person  were  following 
her,  in  the  same  way.  Nobody  was  visible,  but  she 
discerned,  standing  behind  the  angle  of  the  stable, 
Manston's  horse  and  gig,  ready  harnessed. 

He  did  intend  to  fly  after  all,  then,  she  thought. 
He  must  have  placed  the  horse  in  readiness,  in  the 
interval  between  his  leaving  the  house  and  her  exit  by 
the  window.  However,  there  was  not  time  to  weigh 
this  branch  of  the  night's  events.  She  turned  about 
again,  and  continued  on  the  trail  of  the  other  three. 


6.  From  Midnight  to  Half-past  One  a.m. 

Intentness  pervaded  everything ;  Night  herself  seemed 
to  have  become  a  watcher. 

The  four  persons  proceeded  across  the  glade,  and 
into  the  park  plantation,  at  equi-distances  of  about 
seventy  yards.  Here  the  ground,  completely  overhung 
by  the  foliage,  was  coated  with  a  thick  moss  which  was 
as  soft  as  velvet  beneath  their  feet.  The  first  watcher, 
that  is,  the  man  walking  immediately  behind  Manston, 
now  fell  back,  when  Manston's  housekeeper,  knowing 
the  ground  pretty  well,  dived  circuitously  among  the 
trees  and  got  directly  behind  the  steward,  who,  en- 
cumbered with  his  load,  had  proceeded  but  slowly. 
The  other  woman  seemed  now  to  be  about  opposite  to 
Anne,  or  a  little  in  advance,  but  on  Manston's  other 
hand. 

He  reached  a  pit,  midway  between  the  waterfall  and 
the  engine-house.  There  he  stopped,  wiped  his  face, 
and  listened. 

Into  this  pit  had  drifted  uncounted  generations  of 
withered  leaves,  half  filling  it.  Oak,  beech,  and  chest- 
nut, rotten  and  brown  alike,  mingled  themselves  in  one 
433  2  E 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

fibrous  mass.  Manston  descended  into  the  midst  of 
them,  placed  his  sack  on  the  ground,  and  raking  the 
leaves  aside  into  a  large  heap,  began  digging.  Anne 
softly  drew  nearer,  crept  into  a  bush,  and  turning  her 
head  to  survey  the  rest,  missed  the  man  who  had 
dropped  behind,  and  whom  we  have  called  the  first 
watcher.  Concluding  that  he,  too,  had  hidden  himself, 
she  turned  her  attention  to  the  second  watcher,  the 
other  woman,  who  had  meanwhile  advanced  near  to  where 
Anne  lay  in  hiding,  and  now  seated  herself  behind  a 
tree,  still  closer  to  the  steward  than  was  Anne  Seaway. 

Here  and  thus  Anne  remained  concealed.  The 
crunch  of  the  steward's  spade,  as  it  cut  into  the  soft 
vegetable  mould,  was  plainly  perceptible  to  her  ears, 
when  the  periodic  cessations  between  the  creaks  of  the 
engine  concurred  with  a  lull  in  the  breeze,  which  other- 
wise brought  the  subdued  roar  of  the  cascade  from  the 
further  side  of  the  bank  that  screened  it.  A  large  hole 
• — some  four  or  five  feet  deep — had  been  excavated  by 
Manston  in  about  twenty  minutes.  Into  this  he  imme- 
diately placed  the  sack,  and  then  began  filling  in  the 
earth,  and  treading  it  down.  Lastly  he  carefully  raked 
the  whole  mass  of  dead  and  dry  leaves  into  the  middle 
of  the  pit,  burying  the  ground  with  them  as  they  had 
buried  it  before. 

For  a  hiding-place  the  spot  was  unequalled.  The 
thick  accumulation  of  leaves,  which  had  not  been  dis- 
turbed for  centuries,  might  not  be  disturbed  again  for 
centuries  to  come,  whilst  their  lower  layers  still  decayed 
and  added  to  the  mould  beneath. 

By  the  time  this  work  was  ended  the  sky  had  grown 
clearer,  and  Anne  could  now  see  distinctly  the  face  of 
the  other  woman,  stretching  from  Ixihind  the  tree,  seem- 
ingly forgetful  of  her  position  in  her  intense  contempla- 
tion of  the  actions  of  the  steward.  Her  countenance 
was  white  and  motionless. 

It  was  impossible  that  Manston  should  not  soon 
434 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

notice  her.     At  the  completion  of  his  labour  he  turned, 
and  did  so. 

*  Ho — you  here  ! '  he  exclaimed. 

'  Don't  think  I  am  a  spy  upon  you,'  she  said,  in 
an  imploring  whisper.  Anne  recognized  the  voice  as 
Miss  Aldclyffe's. 

The  trembling  lady  added  hastily  another  remark, 
which  was  drowned  in  the  recurring  creak  of  the  engine 
close  at  hand.  The  first  watcher,  if  he  had  come  no 
nearer  than  his  original  position,  was  too  far  off  to  hear 
any  part  of  this  dialogue,  on  account  of  the  roar  of  the 
falling  water,  which  could  reach  him  unimpeded  by  the 
bank. 

The  remark  of  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  Mansion  had  plainly 
been  concerning  the  first  watcher,  for  Manston,  with 
his  spade  in  his  hand,  instantly  rushed  to  where  the 
man  was  concealed,  and,  before  the  latter  could  disengage 
himself  from  the  boughs,  the  steward  struck  him  on  the 
head  with  the  blade  of  the  instrument.  The  man  fell 
to  the  ground. 

*  Fly ! '  said  Miss  Aldclyffe  to  Manston.  Manston 
vanished  amidst  the  trees.  Miss  Aldclyffe  went  off  in 
a  contrary  direction. 

Anne  Seaway  was  about  to  run  away  likewise,  when 
she  turned  and  looked  at  the  fallen  man.  He  lay  on 
his  face,  motionless. 

Many  of  these  women  who  own  to  no  moral  code 
show  considerable  magnanimity  when  they  see  people 
in  trouble.  To  act  right  simply  because  it  is  one's  duty 
is  proper;  but  a  good  action  which  is  the  result  of  no 
law  of  reflection  shines  more  than  any.  She  went  up 
to  him  and  gently  turned  him  over,  upon  which  he 
began  to  show  signs  of  life.  By  her  assistance  he  was 
soon  able  to  stand  upright. 

He  looked  about   him   with   a    Ix^wildered   air,   en- 
deavouring to  collect  his   ideas.     '  Who  are  you  ?     he 
said  to  the  woman,  mechanically. 
435 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

It  was  bad  policy  now  to  attempt  disguise.  '  I  am 
the  supposed  Mrs.  Mansion,'  she  said.  '  Who  are 
you  ? ' 

'  I  am  the  officer  employed  by  Mr.  Raunham  to  sift 
this  mystery — which  may  be  criminal.'  He  stretched 
his  limbs,  pressed  his  head,  and  seemed  gradually  to 
awake  to  a  sense  of  having  been  incautious  in  his 
utterance.  '  Never  you  mind  who  I  am,'  he  continued. 
'  Well,  it  doesn't  matter  now,  either — it  will  no  longer 
be  a  secret.' 

He  stooped  for  his  hat  and  ran  in  the  direction  the 
steward  had  taken — coming  back  again  after  the  lapse 
of  a  minute. 

'  It's  only  an  aggravated  assault,  after  all,'  he  said 
hastily,  '  until  we  have  found  out  for  certain  what's 
buried  here.  It  may  be  only  a  bag  of  building  rubbish ; 
but  it  may  be  more.  Come  and  help  me  dig.'  He 
seized  the  spade  with  the  awkwardness  of  a  town  man, 
and  went  into  the  pit,  continuing  a  muttered  discourse. 
'  It's  no  use  my  running  after  him  single-handed,'  he 
said.  '  He's  ever  so  far  off  by  this  time.  The  best 
step  is  to  see  what  is  here.' 

It  was  far  easier  for  the  detective  to  re-open  the  hole 
than  it  had  been  for  Manston  to  form  it.  The  leaves 
were  raked  away,  the  loam  thrown  out,  and  the  sack" 
dragged  forth. 

'  Hold  this,'  he  said  to  Anne,  whose  curiosity  still 
kept  her  standing  near.  He  turned  on  the  light  of  a 
dark  lantern  he  had  brought,  and  gave  it  into  her 
hand. 

The  string  which  bound  the  mouth  of  the  sack  was 
now  cut.  The  officer  laid  the  bag  on  its  side,  seized  it 
by  the  bottom,  and  jerked  forth  the  contents.  A  large 
package  was  disclosed,  carefully  wrapped  up  in  imper- 
vious tarpaulin,  also  well  tied.  He  was  on  the  point 
of  pulling  open  the  folds  at  one  end,  when  a  light- 
coloured  thread  of  something,  hanging  on  the  outside, 
436 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

arrested  his  eye.  He  put  his  hand  upon  it;  it  felt 
stringy,  and  adhered  to  his  fingers.  '  Hold  the  light 
close,'  he  said. 

She  held  it  close.  He  raised  his  hand  to  the  glass, 
and  they  both  peered  at  an  almost  intangible  filament 
he  held  between  his  finger  and  thumb.  It  was  a  long 
hair ;  the  hair  of  a  woman. 

'  God !  I  couldn't  believe  it — no,  I  couldn't  believe 
it ! '  the  detective  whispered,  horror-struck.  '  And  I 
have  lost  the  man  for  the  present  through  my  unbelief. 
Let's  get  into  a  sheltered  place.  .  .  .  Now  wait  a 
minute  whilst  I  prove  it.' 

He  thrust  his  hand  into  his  waistcoat  pocket,  and 
withdrew  thence  a  minute  packet  of  brown  paper. 
Spreading  it  out  he  disclosed,  coiled  in  the  middle, 
another  long  hair.  It  was  the  hair  the  clerk's  wife  had 
found  on  Mansion's  pillow  nine  days  before  the  Carri- 
ford  fire.  He  held  the  two  hairs  to  the  light:  they  were 
both  of  a  pale-brown  hue.  He  laid  them  parallel  and 
stretched  out  his  arms  :  they  were  of  the  same  length  to 
a  nicety.     The  detective  turned  to  Anne. 

'  It  is  the  body  of  his  first  wife,'  he  said  quietly. 
•  He  murdered  her,  as  Mr.  Springrove  and  the  rector 
suspected — but  how  and  when,  God  only  knows.' 

'  And  I !  '  exclaimed  Anne  Seaway,  a  probable  and 
natural  sequence  of  events  and  motives  explanatory  of 
the  whole  crime — events  and  motives  shadowed  forth  by 
the  letter.  Mansion's  possession  of  it,  his  renunciation 
of  Cytherea,  and  instalment  of  herself — flashing  upon 
her  mind  with  the  rapidity  of  lightning. 

'  Ah — I  see,'  said  the  detective,  standing  unusually 
close  to  her  :  and  a  handcuff  was  on  her  wrist.  '  You 
must  come  with  me,  madam.  Knowing  as  much  about 
a  secret  murder  as  God  knows  is  a  very  suspicious 
thing :  it  doesn't  make  you  a  goddess — far  from  it.' 
He  directed  the  bull's-eye  into  her  face. 

'  Pooh — lead   on,'    she  said   scornfully,    '  and  don't 

*"  437 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

lose  your  principal  actor  for  the  sake  of  torturing  a  poor 
subordinate  like  me.'  , 

He  loosened  her  hand,  gave  her  his  arm,  and  dragged 
her  out  of  the  grove — making  her  run  beside  him  till 
they  had  reached  the  rectory.  A  light  was  burning  here, 
and  an  auxiliary  of  the  detective's  awaiting  him  :  a  horse 
ready  harnessed  to  a  spring-cart  was  standing  outside. 

'  You  have  come — I  wish  I  had  known  that,'  the 
detective  said  to  his  assistant,  hurriedly  and  angrily. 
'  Well,  we've  blundered — he's  gone — you  should  have 
been  here,  as  I  said !  I  was  sold  by  that  woman.  Miss 
Aldclylife — she  watched  me.'  He  hastily  gave  directions 
in  an  undertone  to  this  man.  The  concluding  words 
were,  '  Go  in  to  the  rector — he's  up.  Detain  Miss 
Aldclyffe.  I,  in  the  meantime,  am  driving  to  Caster- 
bridge  with  this  one,  and  for  help.  We  shall  be  sure 
to  have  him  when  it  gets  light.' 

He  assisted  Anne  into  the  vehicle,  and  drove  off  with 
her.  As  they  went,  the  clear,  dry  road  showed  before 
them,  between  the  grassy  quarters  at  each  side,  like  a  white 
riband,  and  made  their  progress  easy.  They  came  to  a 
spot  where  the  highway  was  overhung  by  dense  firs  for 
some  distance  on  both  sides.     It  was  totally  dark  here. 

There  was  a  smash ;  and  a  rude  shock.  In  the  very 
midst  of  its  length,  at  the  point  where  the  road  began 
to  drop  down  a  hill,  the  detective  drove  against  some- 
thing with  a  jerk  which  nearly  flung  them  both  to  the 
ground. 

The  man  recovered  himself,  placed  Anne  on  the  seat, 
and  reached  out  his  hand.  He  found  that  the  off-wheel 
of  his  gig  was  locked  in  that  of  another  conveyance  of 
some  kind. 

'  Hoy  ! '  said  the  officer. 

Nobody  answered. 

•  Hoy,  you  man  asleep  there ! '  he  said  again. 
No  reply. 

•  Well,  that's  odd — this  comes  of  the  folly  of  travel- 

438 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

ling  without  gig-lamps  because  you  expect  the  dawn.' 
He  jumped  to  the  ground  and  turned  on  his  lantern. 

There  was  the  gig  which  had  obstructed  him,  stand- 
ing in  the  middle  of  the  road ;  a  jaded  horse  harnessed 
to  it,  but  no  human  being  in  or  near  the  vehicle. 

'  Do  you  know  whose  gig  this  is  ? '  he  said  to  the 
woman. 

*  No,'  she  said  sullenly.  But  she  did  recognize  it  as 
the  steward's. 

'  I'll  swear  it's  Manston's  !  Come,  I  can  hear  it  by 
your  tone.  However,  you  needn't  say  anything  which 
may  criminate  you.  What  forethought  the  man  must 
have  had — how  carefully  he  must  have  considered  pos- 
sible contingencies  !  Why,  he  must  have  got  the  horse 
and  gig  ready  before  he  began  shifting  the  body.' 

He  Hstened  for  a  sound  among  the  trees.  None 
was  to  be  heard  but  the  occasional  scamper  of  a  rabbit 
over  the  withered  leaves.  He  threw  the  light  of  his 
lantern  through  a  gap  in  the  hedge,  but  could  see 
nothing  beyond  an  impenetrable  thicket.  It  was  clear 
that  Manston  was  not  many  yards  off,  but  the  question 
was  how  to  find  him.  Nothing  could  be  done  by  the 
detective  just  then,  encumbered  as  he  was  by  the  horse 
and  Anne.  If  he  had  entered  the  thicket  on  a  search 
unaided,  Manston  might  have  stepped  unobserved  from 
behind  a  bush  and  murdered  him  with  the  greatest 
ease.  Indeed,  there  were  such  strong  reasons  for  the 
exploit  in  Manston's  circumstances  at  that  moment  that, 
without  showing  cowardice,  his  pursuer  felt  it  hazardous 
to  remain  any  longer  where  he  stood. 

He  hastily  tied  the  head  of  Manston's  horse  to  the 
back  of  his  own  vehicle,  that  the  steward  might  be  de- 
prived of  the  use  of  any  means  of  escape  other  than 
his  own  legs,  and  drove  on  thus  with  his  prisoner  to 
the  county-town.  Arrived  there,  he  lodged  her  in  the 
police-station,  and  then  took  immediate  steps  for  the 
capture  of  Manston. 

439 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XX 

THE  EVENTS  OP 

THREE  HOURS 


I.  March  the  Twenty-Third.     Midday 

XhIRTY-SIX  hours  had  elapsed  since  Manston's 
escape. 

It  was  market-day  at  the  county-town.  The  farmers 
outside  and  inside  the  corn-exchange  looked  at  their 
samples  of  wheat,  and  poured  them  critically  as  usual 
from  one  palm  to  another,  but  they  thought  and  spoke 
of  Manston.  Grocers  serving  behind  their  counters, 
instead  of  using  their  constant  phrase,  '  The  next 
article,  please  ?  '  substituted,  '  Have  you  heard  if  he's 
caught  ? '  Dairymen  and  drovers  standing  beside  the 
sheep  and  cattle  pens,  spread  their  legs  firmly,  re- 
adjusted their  hats,  thrust  their  hands  into  the  lowest 
depths  of  their  pockets,  regarded  the  animals  ^^ith  the 
utmost  keenness  of  which  the  eye  was  capable,  and  said, 
'  Ay,  ay,  so's  :  theyll  have  him  avore  night.' 

Later  in  the  day  Edward  Springrove  passed  along 
the  street  hurriedly  and  anxiously.  '  Well,  have  you 
heard  any  more  ? '  he  said  to  an  acquaintance  who 
accosted  him. 

'  They  tracked  him  in  this  way,'  said  the  other 
440 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

young  man.  *  A  vagrant  first  told  them  that  Manston 
had  passed  a  rick  at  daybreak,  under  which  this  man 
was  lying.  They  followed  the  track  he  pointed  out 
and  ultimately  came  to  a  stile.  On  the  other  side 
was  a  heap  of  half-hardened  mud,  scraped  from  the 
road.  On  the  surface  of  the  heap,  where  it  had  been 
smoothed  by  the  shovel,  was  distinctly  imprinted  the 
form  of  a  man's  hand,  the  buttons  of  his  waistcoat, 
and  his  watch-chain,  showing  that  he  had  stumbled 
in  hurrying  over  the  stile,  and  fallen  there.  The 
pattern  of  the  chain  proved  the  man  to  have  been 
Manston.  They  followed  on  till  they  reached  a 
ford  crossed  by  stepping-stones — on  the  further  bank 
were  the  same  footmarks  that  had  shown  themselves 
beside  the  stile.  The  whole  of  this  course  had  been 
in  the  direction  of  Budmouth.  On  they  went,  and 
the  next  clue  was  furnished  them  by  a  shepherd.  He 
said  that  wherever  a  clear  space  three  or  four  yards 
wide  ran  in  a  line  through  a  flock  of  sheep  lying 
about  a  ewe-lease,  it  was  a  proof  that  somebody  had 
passed  there  not  more  than  half-an-hour  earlier.  At 
twelve  o'clock  that  day  he  had  noticed  such  a  feature 
in  his  flock.  Nothing  more  could  be  heard  of  him, 
and  they  got  into  Budmouth.  The  steam-packet  to 
the  Channel  Islands  was  to  start  at  eleven  last  night, 
and  they  at  once  concluded  that  his  hope  was  to  get 
to  France  by  way  of  Jersey  and  St.  Malo — his  only 
chance,  all  the  railway-stations  being  watched. 

'  Well,  they  went  to  the  boat :  he  was  not  on  board 
then.  They  went  again  at  half-past  ten  :  he  had  not 
come.  Two  men  now  placed  themselves  under  the 
lamp  immediately  beside  the  gangway.  Another  stayed 
by  the  office  door,  and  one  or  two  more  up  Mary 
Street — the  straight  cut  to  the  quay.  At  a  quarter 
to  eleven  the  mail-bags  were  put  on  board.  Whilst 
the  attention  of  the  idlers  was  directed  to  the  mails, 
down  Mary  Street  came  a  man  as  boldly  as  possible. 
441 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

The  gait  was  Mansion's,  but  not  the  clothes.  He 
passed  over  to  the  shaded  part  of  the  street :  heads 
were  turned.  I  suppose  this  warned  him,  for  he 
never  emerged  from  the  shadow.  They  watched  and 
waited,  but  the  steward  did  not  reappear.  The  alarm 
was  raised — they  searched  the  town  high  and  low — 
no  Manston.  All  this  morning  they  have  been  search- 
ing, but  there's  not  a  sign  of  him  anywhere.  How- 
ever, he  has  lost  his  last  chance  of  getting  across  the 
Channel.  It  is  reported  that  he  has  since  changed 
clothes  with  a  labourer.' 

During  this  narration,  Edward,  lost  in  thought, 
had  let  his  eyes  follow  a  shabby  man  in  a  smock- 
frock,  but  wearing  light  boots — who  was  stalking  down 
the  street  under  a  bundle  of  straw  which  overhung 
and  concealed  his  head.  It  was  a  very  ordinary 
circumstance  for  a  man  with  a  bundle  of  straw  on 
his  shoulders  and  overhanging  his  head,  to  go  down 
the  High  Street.  Edward  saw  him  cross  the  bridge 
which  divided  the  town  from  the  country,  place  his 
shaggy  encumbrance  by  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
leave  it  there. 

Springrove  now  parted  from  his  acquaintance,  and 
went  also  in  the  direction  of  the  bridge,  and  some 
way  beyond  it.  As  far  as  he  could  see  stretched 
the  turnpike  road,  and,  while  he  was  looking,  he 
noticed  a  man  to  leap  from  the  hedge  at  a  point 
two  hundred,  or  two  hundred  and  fifty  yards  ahead, 
cross  the  road,  and  go  through  a  wicket  on  the  other 
side.  This  figure  seemed  like  that  of  the  man  who 
had  been  carrying  the  bundle  of  straw.  He  looked 
at  the  straw :  it  still  stood  alone. 

The  subjoined  facts  sprang,  as  it  were,  into  juxta- 
position in  his  brain  : — 

Manston  had    been    seen  wearing  the  clothes  of  a 
labouring   man — a   brown    smock-frock.     So    had   this 
man,   who  seemed   other  than  a  labourer,   on   second 
442 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

thoughts :  and  he  had  concealed  his  face  by  his  bundle 
of  straw  with  the  greatest  ease  and  naturaln£ss. 

The  path  the  man  had  taken  led,  among  other 
places,  to  Tolchurch,  where  Cytherea  was  living. 

If  Mrs.  Manston  was  murdered,  as  some  said,  on 
the  night  of  the  fire,  Cytherea  was  the  steward's  lawful 
wife.  Manston  at  bay,  and  reckless  of  results,  might 
rush  to  his  wife  and  harm  her. 

It  was  a  horrible  supposition  for  a  man  who  loved 
Cytherea  to  entertain ;  but  Springrove  could  not  resist 
its  influence.     He  started  off  for  TolchurcL 


2.  One  to  Two  o'clock  p.m. 

On  that  self-same  mid-day,  whilst  Edward  was  pro- 
ceeding to  Tolchurch  by  the  footpath  across  the  fields, 
Owen  Graye  had  left  the  village  and  was  riding  along 
the  turnpike  road  to  the  county-town,  that  he  might 
ascertain  the  exact  truth  of  the  strange  rumour  which 
had  reached  him  concerning  Manston.  Not  to  disquiet 
his  sister,  he  had  said  nothing  to  her  of  the  matter. 

She  sat  by  the  window  reading.  From  her  position 
she  could  see  up  the  lane  for  a  distance  of  at  least  a 
hundred  yards.  Passers-by  were  so  rare  in  this  retired 
nook,  that  the  eyes  of  those  who  dwelt  by  the  wayside 
were  invariably  lifted  to  every  one  on  the  road,  great  and 
small,  as  to  a  novelty. 

A  man  in  a  brown  smock-frock  turned  the  corner 
and  came  towards  the  house.  It  being  market-day 
at  Casterbridge,  the  village  was  nearly  deserted,  and 
more  than  this,  the  old  farm-house  in  which  Owen  and 
his  sister  were  staying,  stood,  as  has  been  stated,  apart 
from  the  body  of  cottages.  The  man  did  not  look 
respectable ;  Cytherea  arose  and  bolted  the  door. 

Unfortunately  he  was  near  enough  to  see  her  cross 
the  room.     He  advanced  to  the  door,  knocked,  and, 

443 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

receiving  no  answer,  came  to  the  window;  he  next 
pressed  his  face  against  the  glass,  peering  in. 

Cytherea's  experience  at  that  moment  was  probably 
as  trying  a  one  as  ever  fell  to  the  lot  of  a  gentlewoman 
to  endure.  She  recognized  in  the  peering  face  that  of 
the  man  she  had  married. 

But  not  a  movement  was  made  by  her,  not  a  sound 
escaped  her.  Her  fear  was  great ;  but  had  she  known 
the  truth — that  the  man  outside,  feeling  he  had  nothing 
on  earth  to  lose  by  any  act,  was  in  the  last  stage  of 
recklessness,  terrified  nature  must  have  given  way. 

*  Cytherea,'  he  said,  '  let  me  come  in :  I  am  your 
husband.' 

*  No,'  she  replied,  still  not  realizing  the  magnitude 
of  her  peril.  '  If  you  want  to  speak  to  us,  wait  till  my 
brother  comes.' 

'  O,  he's  not  at  home  ?  Cytherea,  I  can't  live  with- 
out you !  All  my  sin  has  been  because  I  love  you  so  ! 
Will  you  fly  with  me?  I  have  money  enough  for  us 
both — only  come  with  me.' 

*  Not  now — not  now.' 

*  I  am  your  husband,  I  tell  you,  and  I  must  come  in.' 

*  You  cannot,'  she  said  faintly.  His  words  began  to 
terrify  her. 

'  I  will,  I  say ! '  he  exclaimed.  '  Will  you  let  me  in, 
I  ask  once  more  ?  ' 

*  No — I  will  not,'  said  Cytherea. 

'  Then  I  will  let  myself  in ! '  he  answered  resolutely. 
*  I  will,  if  I  die  for  it ! ' 

The  windows  were  glazed  in  lattice  panes  of  lead- 
work,  hung  in  casements.  He  broke  one  of  the  panes 
with  a  stone,  thrust  his  hand  through  the  hole,  un- 
fastened the  latch  which  held  the  casement  close,  and 
began  opening  the  window. 

Instantly  the  shutters  flew  together  with  a  slam,  and 
were  barred  with  desperate  quickness  by  Cytherea  on 
the  inside. 

444 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

» Damn  you ! '  he  exclaimed. 

He  ran  round  to  the  back  of  the  house.  His  im- 
patience was  greater  now  :  he  thrust  his  fist  through  the 
pantry  window  at  one  blow,  and  opened  it  in  the  same 
way  as  the  former  one  had  been  opened,  before  the 
terror-stricken  girl  was  aware  that  he  had  gone  round. 
In  an  instant  he  stood  in  the  pantry,  advanced  to  the 
front  room  where  she  was,  flung  back  the  shutters,  and 
held  out  his  arms  to  embrace  her. 

In  extremely  trying  moments  of  bodily  or  mental 
pain,  Cytherea  either  flushed  hot  or  faded  pale,  according 
to  the  state  of  her  constitution  at  the  moment.  Now 
she  burned  like  fire  from  head  to  foot,  and  this  preserved 
her  consciousness. 

Never  before  had  the  poor  child's  natural  agility 
served  her  in  such  good  stead  as  now.  A.  heavy  oblong 
table  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  Round  this 
table  she  flew,  keeping  it  between  herself  and  Manston, 
her  large  eyes  wide  open  with  terror,  their  dilated  pupils 
constandy  fixed  upon  Manston's,  to  read  by  his  expres- 
sion whether  his  next  intention  was  to  dart  to  the  right 
or  the  left. 

Even  he,  at  that  heated  moment,  could  not  endure 
the  expression  of  unutterable  agony  which  shone  from 
that  extraordinary  gaze  of  hers.  It  had  surely  been 
given  her  by  God  as  a  means  of  defence.  Manston  con- 
tinued his  pursuit  with  a  lowered  eye. 

The  panting  and  maddened  desperado — blind  to 
everything  but  the  capture  of  his  wife — went  with  a 
rush  under  the  table :  she  went  over  it  like  a  bird.  He 
went  heavily  over  it :  she  flew  under  it,  and  was  out  at 
the  other  side. 

'  One  on  her  youth  and  pliant  limbs  relies, 
One  on  his  sinews  and  his  giant  size.' 

But  his  superior  strength  was  sure  to  tire  her  down 
in  the  long-run.     She  felt  her  weakness  increasing  with 
445 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

the  quickness  of  her  breath ;  she  uttered  a  wild  scream, 
which  in  its  heartrending  intensity  seemed  to  echo  for 
miles. 

At  the  same  juncture  her  hair  became  unfastened, 
and  rolled  down  about  her  shoulders.  The  least  accident 
at  such  critical  periods  is  sufficient  to  confuse  the  over- 
wrought intelligence.  She  lost  sight  of  his  intended 
direction  for  one  instant,  and  he  immediately  out- 
manoeuvred her. 

'  At  last !  my  Cytherea ! '  he  cried,  overturning  the 
table,  springing  over  it,  seizing  one  of  the  long  brown 
tresses,  pulling  her  towards  him,  and  clasping  her  round. 
She  writhed  downwards  between  his  arms  and  breast,  and 
fell  fainting  on  the  floor.  For  the  first  time  his  action 
was  leisurely.  He  lifted  her  upon  the  sofa,  exclaiming, 
'  Rest  there  for  a  while,  my  frightened  little  bird  ! ' 

And  then  there  was  an  end  of  his  triumph.  He  felt 
himself  clutched  by  the  collar,  and  whizzed  backwards 
with  the  force  of  a  battering-ram  against  the  fireplace. 
Springrove,  wild,  red,  and  breathless,  had  sprung  in  at 
the  open  window,  and  stood  once  more  between  man 
and  wife. 

Manston  was  on  his  legs  again  in  an  instant.  A 
fiery  glance  on  the  one  side,  a  glance  of  pitiless  justice 
on  the  other,  passed  between  them.  It  was  again  the 
meeting  in  the  vineyard  of  Naboth  the  Jezreelite :  '  Hast 
thou  found  me,  O  mine  enemy  ?  And  he  answered,  I 
have  found  thee :  because  thou  hast  sold  tliyself  to  work 
evil  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord.' 

A  desperate  wrestle  now  began  between  the  two 
men.  Manston  was  the  taller,  but  there  was  in  Edward 
much  hard  tough  muscle  which  the  delicate  flesh  of  the 
steward  lacked.  They  flew  together  like  the  jaws  of  a 
gin.  In  a  minute  they  were  both  on  the  floor,  roUing 
over  and  over,  locked  in  each  other's  grasp  as  tightly  as 
if  they  had  been  one  organic  being  at  war  with  itself — 
Edward  trying  to  secure  Manston's  arms  with  a  small 
446 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

thong  he  had  drawn  from  his  pocket,  Manston  trying  to 
reach  his  knife. 

Two  characteristic  noises  pervaded  the  apartment 
through  this  momentous  space  of  time.  One  was  the 
sharp  panting  of  the  two  combatants,  so  similar  in  each 
as  to  be  undistinguishable ;  the  other  was  the  stroke  of 
their  heels  and  toes,  as  they  smote  the  floor  at  every 
contortion  of  body  or  limbs, 

Cytherea  had  not  lost  consciousness  for  more  than 
half-a-minute.  She  had  then  leapt  up  without  recog- 
nizing that  Edward  was  her  deliverer,  unfastened  the 
door,  and  rushed  out,  screaming  wildly,  *  Come  !  Help  ! 
O,  help ! ' 

Three  men  stood  not  twenty  yards  off,  looking  per- 
plexed. They  dashed  forward  at  her  words.  '  Have 
you  seen  a  shabby  man  with  a  smock-frock  on  lately  ? ' 
they  inquired.  She  pointed  to  the  door,  and  ran  on 
the  same  as  before. 

Manston,  who  had  just  loosened  himself  from  Edward's 
grasp,  seemed  at  this  moment  to  renounce  his  intention 
of  pushing  the  conflict  to  a  desperate  end.  *  I  give  it 
all  up  for  life — dear  life ! '  he  cried,  with  a  hoarse  laugh. 
'  A  reckless  man  has  a  dozen  lives — see  how  I'll  baffle 
you  all  yet ! ' 

He  rushed  out  of  the  house,  but  no  further.  The 
boast  was  his  last.  In  one  half-minute  more  he  was 
helpless  in  the  hands  of  his  pursuers. 

Edward  staggered  to  his  feet,  and  paused  to  recover 
breath.  His  thoughts  had  never  forsaken  Cytherea,  and 
his  first  act  now  was  to  hasten  up  the  lane  after  her. 
She  had  not  gone  far.  He  found  her  leaning  upon  a 
bank  by  the  roadside,  where  she  had  flung  herself  down 
in  sheer  exhaustion.  He  ran  up  and  lifted  her  in  his 
arms,  and  thus  aided  she  was  enabled  to  stand  upright 
— cHnging  to  him.  What  would  Springrove  have  given 
to  imprint  a  kiss  upon  her  lips  then ! 
447 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

They  walked  slowly  towards  the  house.  The  dis- 
tressing sensation  of  whose  wife  she  was  could  not 
entirely  quench  the  resuscitated  pleasure  he  felt  at  her 
grateful  recognition  of  him,  and  her  confiding  seizure 
of  his  arm  for  support.  He  conveyed  her  carefully  into 
the  house. 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  whilst  she  was  sitting  in 
a  partially  recovered,  half-dozing  state  in  an  arm-chair, 
Edward  beside  her  waiting  anxiously  till  Graye  should 
arrive,  they  saw  a  spring-cart  pass  the  door.  Old  and 
dry  mud-splashes  from  long-forgotten  rains  disfigured 
its  wheels  and  sides ;  the  varnish  and  paint  had  been 
scratched  and  dimmed ;  ornament  had  long  been  for- 
gotten in  a  restless  contemplation  of  use.  Three  men 
sat  on  the  seat,  the  middle  one  being  Manston.  His 
hands  were  bound  in  front  of  him,  his  eyes  were  set 
directly  forward,  his  countenance  pallid,  hard,  and 
fixed. 

Springrove  had  told  Cytherea  of  Mansion's  crim.e 
in  a  few  short  words.  He  now  said  solemnly,  '  He  is 
to  die.' 

'  And  I  cannot  mourn  for  him,'  she  replied  with  a 
shudder,  leaning  back  and  covering  her  face  with  her 
hands. 

In  the  silence  that  followed  the  two  short  remarks, 
Springrove  watched  the  cart  round  the  corner,  and  heard 
the  rattle  of  its  wheels  gradually  dying  away  as  it  rolled 
in  the  direction  of  the  county-town. 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


XXI 

THE  EVENTS  OF 

EIGHTEEN  HOURS 

I.  March  the  Twenty-Ninth.     Noon 

Exactly  seven  days  after  Edward  Springrove  had 
seen  the  man  with  the  bundle  of  straw  walking  down 
the  streets  of  Casterbridge,  old  Farmer  Springrove  was 
standing  on  the  edge  of  the  same  pavement,  talking  to 
his  friend,  Farmer  Baker. 

There  was  a  pause  in  their  discourse,  Mr.  Springrove 
was  looking  down  the  street  at  some  object  which  had 
attracted  his  attention.  *  Ah,  'tis  what  we  shall  all  come 
to  ! '  he  murmured. 

The  other  looked  in  the  same  direction.  'True, 
neighbour  Springrove;  true.' 

Two  men,  advancing  one  behind  the  other  in  the 
middle  of  the  road,  were  what  the  farmers  referred  to. 
They  were  carpenters,  and  bore  on  their  shoulders  an 
empty  coffin,  covered  by  a  thin  black  cloth. 

'  I  always  feel  a  satisfaction  at  being  breasted  by 
such  a  sight  as  that,'  said  Springrove,  still  regarding  the 
men's  sad  burden.     '  I  call  it  a  sort  of  medicine.' 

'  And  it  is  medicine.  ...  I  have  not  heard  of  any- 
body being  ill  up  this  way  lately  ?  D'seem  as  if  the 
person  died  suddenly.' 

449  »  ^ 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  May  be  so.  Ah,  Baker,  we  say  sudden  death, 
don't  we?  But  there's  no  difference  ii;i  their  nature 
between  sudden  death  and  death  of  any  other  sort. 
There's  no  such  thing  as  a  random  snapping  off  of  what 
was  laid  down  to  last  longer.  We  only  suddenly  light 
upon  an  end — thoughtfully  formed  as  any  other — which 
has  been  existing  at  that  very  same  point  from  the 
beginning,  though  unseen  by  us  to  be  so  soon.' 

'  It  is  just  a  discovery  to  your  own  mind,  and  not  an 
alteration  in  the  Lord's.' 

'That's  it.  Unexpected  is  not  as  to  the  thing,  but 
as  to  our  sight.' 

'  Now  you'll  hardly  believe  me,  neighbour,  but  this 
little  scene  in  front  of  us  makes  me  feel  less  anxious 
about  pushing  on  wi'  that  threshing  and  winnowing 
next  week,  that  I  was  speaking  about.  Why  should  we 
not  stand  still,  says  I  to  myself,  and  fling  a  quiet  eye 
upon  the  Whys  and  the  Wherefores,  before  the  end  o' 
it  all,  and  we  go  down  into  the  mouldering-place,  and 
are  forgotten  ? ' 

'  'Tis  a  feeling  that  will  come.  But  'twont  bear  look- 
ing into.  There's  a  back'ard  current  in  the  world,  and 
we  must  do  our  utmost  to  advance  in  order  just  to  bide 
where  we  be.  But,  Baker,  they  are  turning  in  here  with 
the  coffin,  look.' 

The  two  carpenters  had  borne  their  load  into  a 
narrow  way  close  at  hand.  The  farmers,  in  common 
with  others,  turned  and  watched  them  along  the  way. 

'  'Tis  a  man's  coffin,  and  a  tall  man's,  too,'  continued 
Farmer  Springrove.  '  His  was  a  fine  frame,  whoever 
he  was.' 

'  A  very  plain  box  for  the  poor  soul — ^just  the  rough 
elm,  you  see.'  The  corner  of  the  cloth  had  blown 
aside. 

•  Yes,  for  a  very  poor  man.  Well,  death's  all  the  less 
insult  to  him.  I  have  often  thought  how  much  smaller 
the  richer  class  are  made  to  look  than  the  poor  at 

450 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

last  pinches  like  this.  Perhaps  the  greatest  of  all  the 
reconcilers  of  a  thoughtful  man  to  poverty  —  and  I 
speak  from  experience — is  the  grand  quiet  it  fills  him 
with  when  the  uncertainty  of  his  life  shows  itself  more 
than  usual.' 

As  Springrove  finished  speaking,  the  bearers  of  the 
coffin  went  across  a  gravelled  square  facing  the  two 
men  and  approached  a  grim  and  heavy  archway.  They 
paused  beneath  it,  rang  a  bell,  and  waited. 

Over  the  archway  was  written  in  Egyptian  capitals, 

'COUNTY    GAOL.' 

The  small  rectangular  wicket,  which  was  constructed  in 
one  of  the  two  iron-studded  doors,  was  opened  from  the 
inside.  The  men  severally  stepped  over  the  threshold, 
the  coffin  dragged  its  melancholy  length  through  the 
aperture,  and  both  entered  the  court,  and  were  covered 
from  sight. 

'  Somebody  in  the  gaol,  then  ?  ' 

*  Yes,  one  of  the  prisoners,'  said  a  boy,  scudding  by 
at  the  moment,  who  passed  on  whistHng. 

'  Do  you  know  the  name  of  the  man  who  is  dead  ? ' 
inquired  Baker  of  a  third  bystander. 

'  Yes,  'tis  all  over  town  —  surely  you  know,  Mr. 
Springrove?  Why,  Manston,  Miss  Aldclyffe's  steward. 
He  was  found  dead  the  first  thing  this  morning.  He 
had  hung  himself  behind  the  door  of  his  cell,  in  some 
way,  by  a  handkerchief  and  some  strips  of  his  clothes. 
The  turnkey  says  his  features  were  scarcely  changed, 
as  he  looked  at  'em  with  the  early  sun  a-shining  in 
at  the  grating  upon  him.  He  has  left  a  full  account 
of  the  murder,  and  all  that  led  to  it.  So  there's  an 
end  of  him.' 

It  was  perfectly  true :  Manston  was  dead. 
The  previous  day  he  had  been  allowed  the  use  of 
45 1 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

writing-materials,  and  had   occupied  himself  for  nearly 
seven  hours  in  preparing  the  following  confession : — 

'Last  Words. 

'  Having  found  man's  life  to  be  a  wretchedly  conceived  scheme, 
I  renounce  it,  and,  to  cause  no  further  trouble,  I  write  down  the 
facts  connected  with  my  past  proceedings. 

'  After  thanking  God,  on  first  entering  my  house,  on  the  night 
of  the  fire  at  Carriford,  for  my  release  from  bondage  to  a  woman  I 
detested,  I  went,  a  second  time,  to  the  scene  of  the  disaster,  and, 
finding  that  nothing  could  be  done  by  remaining  there,  shortly  after- 
wards I  returned  home  again  in  the  company  of  Mr.  Raunham. 

'  He  parted  from  me  at  the  steps  of  my  porch,  and  went  back 
towards  the  rectory.  Whilst  I  still  stood  at  the  door,  musing  on 
my  strange  deliverance,  I  saw  a  figure  advance  from  beneath  the 
shadow  of  the  park  trees.     It  was  the  figure  of  a  woman. 

'  When  she  came  near,  the  twilight  was  sufficient  to  show  me 
her  attire :  it  was  a  cloak  reaching  to  the  bottom  of  her  dress,  and 
a  thick  veil  covering  her  face.  These  features,  together  with  her 
size  and  gait,  aided  also  by  a  flash  of  perception  as  to  the  chain 
of  events  which  had  saved  her  life,  told  me  that  she  was  my  wife 
Eunice. 

'  I  gnashed  my  teeth  in  a  frenzy  of  despair  ;  I  had  lost  Cytherea  ; 
I  had  gained  one  whose  beauty  had  departed,  whose  utterance  was 
complaint,  whose  mind  was  shallow,  and  who  drank  brandy  every 
day.  The  revulsion  of  feeling  was  terrible.  Providence,  whom  I 
had  just  thanked,  seemed  a  mocking  tormentor  laughing  at  me.  I 
felt  like  a  madman. 

'  She  came  close — started  at  seeing  me  outside — then  spoke  to 
me.  Her  first  words  were  reproof  for  what  I  had  unintentionally 
done,  and  sounded  as  an  earnest  of  what  I  was  to  be  cursed  with 
as  long  as  we  both  lived.  I  answered  angrily;  this  tone  of  mine 
changed  her  complaints  to  irritation.  She  taunted  me  with  a  secret 
she  had  discovered,  which  concerned  Miss  Aldclyffe  and  myself.  I 
was  surprised  to  learn  it— more  surprised  that  she  knew  it,  but  con- 
cealed my  feeling. 

'  "  How  coilld  you  serve  me  so?"  she  said,  her  breath  smelling 
of  spirits  even  then.      "You  love  another  woman — yes,  you  do. 
See  how  you  drive  me  a1x)ut !    I  have  been  to  the  station,  intending 
to  leave  you  for  ever,  and  yet  I  come  to  try  you  once  more." 
452 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

'An  indescribable  exasperation  had  sprung  up  in  me  as  she 
talked — rage  and  regret  were  all  in  all.  Scarcely  knowing  what  I 
did,  I  furiously  raised  my  hand  and  swung  it  round  with  my  whole 
force  to  strike  her.  She  turned  quickly — and  it  was  the  poor  crea- 
ture's end.  By  her  movement  my  hand  came  edgewise  exactly  in 
the  nape  of  the  neck — as  men  strike  a  hare  to  kill  it.  The  effect 
staggered  me  with  amazement.  The  blow  must  have  disturbed  the 
vertebrae ;  she  fell  at  my  feet,  made  a  few  movements,  and  uttered 
one  low  sound. 

'  I  ran  indoors  for  water  and  some  wine,  I  came  out  and  lanced 
her  arm  with  my  penknife.  But  she  lay  still,  and  I  found  that  she 
was  dead. 

'  It  was  a  long  time  before  I  could  realize  my  horrible  position. 
For  several  minutes  I  had  no  idea  of  attempting  to  escape  the  con- 
sequences of  my  deed.  Then  a  light  broke  upon  me.  Had  anybody 
seen  her  since  she  left  the  Three  Tranters  ?  Had  they  not,  she  was 
already  believed  by  the  parishioners  to  be  dust  and  ashes.  I  should 
never  be  found  out. 

'  Upon  this  I  acted. 

'  The  first  question  was  how  to  dispose  of  the  body.  The  im- 
pulse of  the  moment  was  to  bury  her  at  once  in  the  pit  between  the 
engine-house  and  waterfall  ;  but  it  struck  me  that  I  should  not  have 
time.  It  was  now  four  o'clock,  and  the  working-men  would  soon 
be  stirring  about  the  place.  I  would  put  off  burying  her  till  the 
next  night.     I  carried  her  indoors. 

'  In  turning  the  outhouse  into  a  workshop,  earlier  in  the  season, 
I  found,  when  driving  a  nail  into  the  wall  for  fixing  a  cupboard, 
that  the  wall  sounded  hollow.  I  examined  it,  and  discovered  behind 
the  plaster  an  old  oven  which  had  long  been  disused,  and  was  bricked 
up  when  the  house  was  prepared  for  me. 

'  To  unfix  this  cupboard  and  pull  out  the  bricks  was  the  work  of 
a  few  minutes.  Then,  bearing  in  mind  that  I  should  have  to  remove 
the  body  again  the  next  night,  I  placed  it  in  a  sack,  pushed  it  into 
the  oven,  packed  in  the  bricks,  and  replaced  the  cupboard. 

'  I  then  went  to  bed.  In  bed,  I  thought  whether  there  were  any 
very  remote  possibilities  that  might  lead  to  the  supposition  that  my 
wife  was  not  consumed  by  the  flames  of  the  burning  house.  The 
thing  which  struck  me  most  forcibly  was  this,  that  the  searchers 
might  think  it  odd  that  no  remains  whatever  should  be  found. 

'  The  clinching  and  triumphant  deed  would  be  to  take  the  body 
and  place  it  among  the  ruins  of  the  destroyed  house.     But  I  could 

»G  453 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

not  do  this,  on  account  of  the  men  who  were  watching  against  an 
outbreak  of  the  fire.     One  remedy  remained. 

'I  arose  again,  dressed  myself,  and  went  down  to  the  outhouse. 
I  must  take  down  the  cupboard  again.  I  did  take  it  down.  I  pulled 
out  the  bricks,  pulled  out  the  sack,  pulled  out  the  corpse,  and  took 
her  keys  from  her  pocket  and  the  watch  from  her  side. 

'  I  then  replaced  everything  as  before. 

•  With  these  articles  in  my  pocket  I  went  out  of  the  yard,  and 
took  my  way  through  the  withy  copse  to  the  churchyard,  entering  it 
from  the  back.  Here  I  felt,  my  way  carefully  along  till  I  came  to 
the  nook  where  pieces  of  bones  from  newly-dug  graves  are  sometimes 
piled  behind  the  laurel-bushes.  I  had  been  earnestly  hoping  to  find 
a  skull  among  these  old  bones ;  but  though  I  had  frequently  seen 
one  or  two  in  the  rubbish  here,  there  was  not  one  now.  I  then 
groped  in  the  other  corner  with  the  same  result — nowhere  could  I 
find  a  skull.  Three  or  four  fragments  of  leg  and  back-bones  were 
all  I  could  collect,  and  with  these  I  was  forced  to  be  content. 

'Taking  them  in  my  hand,  I  crossed  the  road,  and  got  round 
behind  the  inn,  where  the  couch  heap  was  still  smouldering.  Keeping 
behind  the  hedge,  I  could  see  the  heads  of  the  three  or  four  men 
who  watched  the  spot. 

'  Standing  in  this  place  I  took  the  bones,  and  threw  them  one 
by  one  over  the  hedge  and  over  the  men's  heads  into  the  smoking 
embers.  When  the  bones  had  all  been  thrown,  I  threw  the  keys  ; 
last  of  all  I  threw  the  watch. 

'  I  then  returned  home  as  I  had  gone,  and  went  to  bed  once 
more,  just  as  the  dawn  began  to  break.  I  exulted — "Cylherea  is 
mine  again  ! " 

'At  breakfast-time  I  thought,  "Suppose  the  cupboard  should  by 
some  unlikely  chance  get  moved  to-day  1  " 

'  I  went  to  the  mason's  yard  hard  by,  while  the  men  were  at 
breakfast,  and  brought  away  a  shovelful  of  mortar.  I  took  it  into 
the  outhouse,  again  shifted  the  cupboard,  and  plastered  over  the 
mouth  of  the  oven  behind.  Simply  pushing  the  cupboard  back  into 
its  place,  I  waited  for  the  next  night  that  I  might  bury  the  body, 
though  upon  the  whole  it  was  in  a  tolerably  safe  hiding-place. 

'  When  the  night  came,  my  nerves  were  in  some  way  weaker 
than  they  had  been  on  the  previous  night.  I  felt  reluctant  to  touch 
the  body.  I  went  to  the  outhouse,  but  instead  of  opening  the  oven, 
I  firmly  drove  in  the  shoulder-nails  that  held  the  cupboard  to  the 
wall.  "  I  will  bury  her  to-morrow  night,  however,"  I  thought. 
454 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

•  But  the  next  night  I  was  still  more  reluctant  to  touch  her.  And 
my  reluctance  increased,  and  there  the  body  remained.  The  oven 
was,  after  all,  never  likely  to  be  opened  in  my  time. 

'  I  married  Cytherea  Graye,  and  never  did  a  bridegroom  leave  the 
church  with  a  heart  more  full  of  love  and  happiness,  and  a  brain 
more  fixed  on  good  intentions,  than  I  did  on  that  morning. 

'  When  Cyiherea's  brother  made  his  appearance  at  the  hotel  in 
Southampton,  bearing  his  strange  evidence  of  the  porter's  disclosure, 
I  was  staggered  beyond  expression.  I  thought  they  had  found  the 
body.  "Am  I  to  be  apprehended  and  to  lose  her  even  now?"  I 
mourned.  I  saw  my  error,  and  instantly  saw,  too,  that  I  must  act 
externally  like  an  honourable  man.  So  at  his  request  I  yielded  her 
up  to  him,  and  meditated  on  several  schemes  for  enabling  me  to 
claim  the  woman  I  had  a  legal  right  to  claim  as  my  wife,  without 
disclosing  the  reason  why  I  knew  myself  to  have  it. 

'  I  went  home  to  Knapwater  the  next  day,  and  for  nearly  a  week 
lived  in  a  state  of  indecision.  I  could  not  hit  upon  a  scheme  for 
proving  my  wife  dead  without  compromising  myself. 

'  Mr.  Raunham  hinted  that  I  should  take  steps  to  discover  her 
whereabouts  by  advertising.  I  had  no  energy  for  the  farce.  But 
one  evening  I  chanced  to  enter  the  Rising  Sun  Inn.  Two  notorious 
poachers  were  sitting  in  the  settle,  which  screened  my  entrance. 
They  were  half  drunk — their  conversation  was  carried  on  in  the 
solemn  and  emphatic  tone  common  to  that  stage  of  intoxication, 
and  I  myself  was  the  subject  of  it. 

'  The  following  was  the  substance  of  their  disjointed  remarks  : 
On  the  night  of  the  great  fire  at  Carriford,  one  of  them  was  sent  to 
meet  me,  and  break  the  news  of  the  death  of  my  wife  to  me.  This 
he  did  ;  but  because  I  would  not  pay  him  for  his  news,  he  left  me 
in  a  mood  of  vindictiveness.  When  the  fire  was  over,  he  joined  his 
comrade.  The  favourable  hour  of  the  night  suggested  to  them  tlie 
possibility  of  some  unlawful  gain  before  daylight  came.  My  fowl- 
house  stood  in  a  tempting  position,  and  still  resenting  his  repulse 
during  the  evening,  one  of  them  proposed  to  operate  upon  my  birds. 
I  was  believed  to  have  gone  to  the  rectory  with  Mr.  Raunham.  The 
other  was  disinclined  to  go,  and  the  first  went  off  alone. 

'  It  was  now  about  three  o'clock.  He  had  advanced  as  far  as 
the  shrubbery,  which  grows  near  the  north  wall  of  the  house,  when 
he  fancied  he  heard,  above  the  rush  of  the  waterfall,  noises  on  the 
other  side  of  the  building.  lie  described  them  in  these  words, 
"Ghostly  mouths  talking— then  a  fall— then  a  groan — then  the 
455 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

rush  of  the  water  and  creak  of  the  engine  as  before."  Only  one 
explanation  occurred  to  him  ;  the  house  was  haunted.  And,  whether 
those  of  the  living  or  the  dead,  voices  of  any  kind  were  inimical 
to  one  who  had  come  on  such  an  errand.  He  stealthily  crept 
home. 

'  His  unlawful  purpose  in  being  behind  the  house  led  him  to 
conceal  his  adventure.  No  suspicion  of  the  truth  entered  his  mind 
till  the  railway-porter  had  startled  everybody  by  his  strange  an- 
nouncement. Then  he  asked  himself,  had  the  horrifying  sounds  of 
that  night  been  really  an  enactment  in  the  flesh  between  me  and 
my  wife  ? 

*  The  words  of  the  other  man  were  : 

'  "  Why  don't  he  try  to  find  her  if  she's  alive  ?  " 

*  "True,"  said  the  first.  "  Well,  I  don't  forget  what  I  heard, 
and  if  she  don't  turn  up  alive  my  mind  will  be  as  sure  as  a  Bible 
upon  her  murder,  and  the  parson  shall  know  it,  though  I  do  get  six 
months  on  the  treadmill  for  being  where  I  was." 

' ' '  And  if  she  should  turn  up  alive  ?  " 

'  "Then  I  shall  know  that  I  am  wrong,  and  believing  myself  a 
fool  as  well  as  a  rogue,  hold  my  tongue." 

'  I  glided  out  of  the  house  in  a  cold  sweat.  The  only  pres- 
sure in  heaven  or  earth  which  could  have  forced  me  to  renounce 
Cytherea  was  now  put  upon  me — the  dread  of  a  death  upon  the 
gallows. 

'  I  sat  all  that  night  weaving  strategy  of  various  kinds.  The 
only  effectual  remedy  for  my  hazardous  standing  that  I  could  see 
was  a  simple  one.  It  was  to  substitute  another  woman  for  my  wife 
before  the  suspicions  of  that  one  easily-hoodwinked  man  extended 
further. 

*  The  only  difficulty  was  to  find  a  practicable  substitute. 

'  The  one  woman  at  all  available  for  the  purpose  was  a  friendless, 
innocent  creature,  named  Anne  Seaway,  whom  I  had  known  in  my 
youth,  and  who  had  for  some  time  been  the  housekeeper  of  a  lady 
in  London.  On  account  of  this  lady's  sudden  death,  Anne  stood 
in  rather  a  precarious  position,  as  regarded  her  future  subsistence. 
She  was  not  the  best  kind  of  woman  for  the  scheme ;  but  there 
was  no  alternative.  One  quality  of  hers  was  valuable  ;  she  was 
not  a  talker.  I  went  to  London  the  very  next  day,  called  at  the 
Iloxton  lodijing  of  my  wife  (the  only  place  at  which  she  had  been 
known  as  Mrs.  Mansion),  and  found  that  no  great  difficulties  stood 
in  the  way  of  a  personation.      And  thus  favouring  circumstances 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

determined  my  course.     I  visited  Anne  Seaway,  made  love  to  her, 
and  propounded  my  plan. 


'We  lived  quietly  enough  until  the  Sunday  before  my  appre- 
hension. Anne  came  home  from  church  that  morning,  and  told  me 
of  the  suspicious  way  in  which  a  young  man  had  looked  at  her 
there.  Nothing  could  be  done  beyond  waiting  the  issue  of  events. 
Then  the  letter  came  from  Raunham.  For  the  first  time  in  my  life 
I  was  half  indifferent  as  to  what  fate  awaited  me.  During  the  suc- 
ceeding day  I  thought  once  or  twice  of  running  away,  but  could  not 
quite  make  up  my  mind.  At  any  rate  it  would  be  best  to  bury  the 
body  of  my  wife,  I  thought,  for  the  oven  might  be  opened  at  any 
time.  I  went  to  Casterbridge  and  made  some  arrangements.  In 
the  evening  Miss  Aldclyffe  (who  is  united  to  me  by  a  common  secret 
which  I  have  no  right  or  wish  to  disclose)  came  to  my  house,  and 
alarmed  me  still  more.  She  said  that  she  could  tell  by  Mr.  Raunham's 
manner  that  evening,  that  he  kept  back  from  her  a  suspicion  of  more 
importance  even  than  the  one  he  spoke  of,  and  that  strangers  were 
in  his  house  even  then. 

'  I  guessed  what  this  further  suspicion  was,  and  resolved  to 
enlighten  her  to  a  certain  extent,  and  so  secure  her  assistance.  I 
said  that  I  killed  my  wife  by  an  accident  on  the  night  of  the  fire, 
dwelling  upon  the  advantage  to  her  of  the  death  of  the  only  woman 
who  knew  her  secret. 

'  Her  terror,  and  fears  for  my  fate,  led  her  to  watch  the  rectory 
that  evening.  She  saw  the  detective  leave  it,  and  followed  him  to 
my  residence.  This  she  told  me  hurriedly  when  I  perceived  her 
after  digging  my  wife's  grave  in  the  plantation.  She  did  not  suspect 
what  the  sack  contained. 

'  I  am  now  about  to  enter  on  my  normal  condition.  For  people 
are  almost  always  in  their  graves.  When  we  survey  the  long  race 
of  men,  it  is  strange  and  still  more  strange  to  find  that  they  are 
mainly  dead  men,  who  have  scarcely  ever  been  otherwise. 

'/Eneas  Manston.' 

The   steward's  confession,   aided    by    circumstantial 
evidence  of  various  kinds,  was  the  means  of  freeing  both 
Anne  Seaway  and  Miss  Aldclyffe  from  all  suspicion  of 
complicity  with  the  murderer. 
457 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 


2.  Six  o clock  p.m. 


It  was  evening — ^just  at  sunset — on  the  day  of 
Manston's  death. 

In  the  cottage  at  Tolchurch  was  gathered  a  group 
consisting  of  Cytherea,  her  brother,  Edward  Springrove, 
and  his  father.  They  sat  by  the  window  conversing 
of  the  strange  events  which  had  just  taken  place.  In 
Cytherea's  eye  there  beamed  a  hopeful  ray,  though  her 
face  was  as  white  as  a  lily. 

Whilst  they  talked,  looking  out  at  the  yellow  evening 
light  that  coated  the  hedges,  trees,  and  church  tower,  a 
brougham  rolled  round  the  corner  of  the  lane,  and  came 
in  full  view.  It  reflected  the  rays  of  the  sun  in  a  flash 
from  its  polished  panels  as  it  turned  the  angle,  the 
spokes  of  the  wheels  bristling  in  the  same  light  like 
bayonets.  The  vehicle  came  nearer,  and  arrived  oppo- 
site Owen's  door,  when  the  driver  pulled  the  rein  and 
gave  a  shout,  and  the  panting  and  sweating  horses 
stopped. 

'  Miss  Aldclyfife's  carriage !  '  they  all  exclaimed. 

Owen  went  out.  '  Is  Miss  Graye  at  home  ? '  said 
the  man.  '  A  note  for  her,  and  I  am  to  wait  for  an 
answer.' 

Cytherea  read  in  the  handwriting  of  the  Rector  of 
Carriford : — 

'  Dear  Miss  Grave,  —  Miss  Aldclyffe  is  ill,  though  not 
dangerously.  She  continually  repeats  your  name,  and  now  wishes 
very  much  to  see  you.  If  you  possibly  can,  come  in  the  carriage. — 
Very  sincerely  yours,  John  Raunham.' 

'  How  comes  she  ill  ? '  Owen  inquired  of  the  coach- 
man. 

'  She  caught  a  violent  cold  by  standing  out  of  doors 
in  the  damp,  on  the  night  the  steward  ran  away.  Ever 
458 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

since,  till  this  morning,  she  complained  of  fulness  and 
heat  in  the  chest.  This  morning  the  maid  ran  in  and 
told  her  suddenly  that  Mansion  had  killed  himself  in 
gaol — she  shrieked — broke  a  blood-vessel — and  fell  upon 
the  floor.  Severe  internal  haemorrhage  continued  for 
some  time  and  then  stopped.  They  say  she  is  sure  to 
get  over  it ;  but  she  herself  says  no.  She  has  suffered 
from  it  before.' 

Cytherea  was  ready  in  a  few  moments,  and  entered 
the  carriage. 

3.  Seven  o'clock  p.m. 

Soft  as  was  Cytherea's  motion  along  the  corridors  of 
Knapwater  House,  the  preternaturally  keen  intelligence 
of  the  suffering  woman  caught  the  maiden's  well-known 
footfall.  She  entered  the  sick-chamber  with  suspended 
breath. 

In  the  room  everything  was  so  still,  and  sensation 
was  as  it  were  so  rarefied  by  solicitude,  that  thinking 
seemed  acting,  and  the  lady's  weak  act  of  trying  to  live 
a  silent  wrestling  with  all  the  powers  of  the  universe. 
Nobody  was  present  but  Mr.  Raunham,  the  nurse  having 
left  the  room  on  Cytherea's  entry,  and  the  physician 
and  surgeon  being  engaged  in  a  whispered  conversation 
in  a  side-chamber.  Their  patient  had  been  pronounced 
out  of  danger. 

Cytherea  went  to  the  bedside,  and  was  instantly 
recognized.  O,  what  a  change — Miss  Aldclyfife  depen- 
dent upon  pillows  !  And  yet  not  a  forbidding  change. 
With  weakness  had  come  softness  of  aspect :  the 
haughtiness  was  extracted  from  the  frail  thin  counten- 
ance, and  a  sweeter  mild  placidity  had  taken  its  place. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  signified  to  Mr.  Raunham  that  she 
would  like  to  be  alone  with  Cytherea. 

'Cytherea?'  she  faintly  whispered  the  instant  the 
door  was  closed. 

459 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

Cytherea  clasped  the  lady's  weak  hand,  and  sank 
beside  her. 

Miss  Aldclyffe  whispered  again.  '  They  say  I  am 
certain  to  live;  but  I  know  that  I  am  certainly  going 
to  die.' 

'  They  know,  I  think,  and  hope.' 

•  I  know  best,  but  we'll  leave  that.  Cytherea — O 
Cytherea,  can  you  forgive  me ! ' 

Her  companion  pressed  her  hand. 

'  But  you  don't  know  yet — you  don't  know  yet,'  the 
invalid  murmured.  *  It  is  forgiveness  for  that  misrepre- 
sentation to  Edward  Springrove  that  I  implore,  and  for 
putting  such  force  upon  him — that  which  caused  all 
the  train  of  your  innumerable  ills  ! ' 

'  I  know  all — all.  And  I  do  forgive  you.  Not  in 
a  hasty  impulse  that  is  revoked  when  coolness  comes, 
but  deliberately  and  sincerely :  as  I  myself  hope  to  be 
forgiven,  I  accord  you  my  forgiveness  now.' 

Tears  streamed  from  Miss  Aldclyffe's  eyes,  and 
mingled  with  those  of  her  young  companion,  who  could 
not  restrain  hers  for  sympathy.  Expressions  of  strong 
attachment,  interrupted  by  emotion,  burst  again  and 
again  from  the  broken-spirited  woman. 

'  But  you  don't  know  my  motive.  O,  if  you  only 
knew  it,  how  you  would  pity  me  then  ! ' 

Cytherea  did  not  break  the  pause  which  ensued,  and 
the  elder  woman  appeared  now  to  nerve  herself  by  a 
superhuman  effort.  She  spoke  on  in  a  voice  weak  as  a 
summer  breeze,  and  full  of  intermission,  and  yet  there 
pervaded  it  a  steadiness  of  intention  that  seemed  to 
demand  firm  tones  to  bear  it  out  worthily. 

'  Cytherea,'  she  said,  '  listen  to  me  before  I  die. 

'  A  long  time  ago — more  than  thirty  years  ago — a 
young  girl  of  seventeen  was  cruelly  betrayed  by  her 
cousin,  a  wild  officer  of  six-and-twenty.  .  .  .  He  went 
to  India,  and  died. 

'One  night  when  that  miserable  girl  had  just  arrived 
460 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

home  with  her  parents  from  Germany,  where  her  baby 
had  been  born,  she  took  all  the  money  she  possessed, 
pinned  it  on  her  infant's  bosom,  together  with  a  letter, 
stating,  among  other  things,  what  she  wished  the  child's 
Christian  name  to  be ;  wrapped  up  the  little  thing,  and 
walked  with  it  to  Clapham.  Here,  in  a  retired  street, 
she  selected  a  house.  She  placed  the  child  on  the 
doorstep  and  knocked  at  the  door,  then  ran  away  and 
watched.     They  took  it  up  and  carried  it  indoors. 

'  Now  that  her  poor  baby  was  gone,  the  girl  blamed 
herself  bitterly  for  cruelty  towards  it,  and  wished  she 
had  adopted  her  parents'  counsel  to  secretly  hire  a 
nurse.  She  longed  to  see  it.  She  didn't  know  what 
to  do.  She  wrote  in  an  assumed  name  to  the  woman 
who  had  taken  it  in,  and  asked  her  to  meet  the  writer 
with  the  infant  at  certain  places  she  named.  These 
were  hotels  or  coffee-houses  in  Chelsea,  Pimlico,  or 
Hammersmith.  The  woman,  being  well  paid,  always 
came,  and  asked  no  questions.  At  one  meeting — at 
an  inn  in  Hammersmith — she  made  her  appearance 
without  the  child,  and  told  the  girl  it  was  so  ill  that  it 
would  not  live  through  the  night.  The  news,  and 
fatigue,  brought  on  a  fainting-fit.  .   .  .' 

Miss  Aldclyffe's  sobs  choked  her  utterance,  and  she 
became  painfully  agitated.  Cytherea,  pale  and  amazed 
at  what  she  heard,  wept  for  her,  bent  over  her,  and 
begged  her  not  to  go  on  speaking. 

'  Yes — I  must,'  she  cried,  between  her  sobs.  '  I  will 
— I  must  go  on  !  And  I  must  tell  yet  more  plainly  !  .  .  . 
you  must  hear  it  before  I  am  gone,  Cytherea.'  The 
sympathizing  and  astonished  girl  sat  down  again. 

'  The  name  of  the  woman  who  had  taken  the  child 
was  Mansion.  She  was  the  widow  of  a  schoolmaster. 
She  said  she  had  adopted  the  child  of  a  relation. 

*  Only  one  man  ever  found  out  who  the  mother 
was.  He  was  the  keeper  of  the  inn  in  which  she 
fainted,  and  his  silence  she  has  purchased  ever  since. 
461 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  A  twelvemonth  passed — fifteen  months — and  the 
saddened  girl  met  a  man  at  her  father's  house  named 
Graye — your  father,  Cytherea,  then  unmarried.  Ah, 
such  a  man !  Inexperience  now  perceived  what  it 
was  to  be  loved  in  spirit  and  in  truth !  But  it  was 
too  late.  Had  he  known  her  secret  he  would  have 
cast  her  out.  She  withdrew  from  him  by  an  effort, 
and  pined. 

'Years  and  years  afterwards,  when  she  became 
mistress  of  a  fortune  and  estates  by  her  father's  death, 
she  formed  the  weak  scheme  of  having  near  her  the 
son  whom,  in  her  father's  life-time,  she  had  been  for- 
bidden to  recognize.  Cytherea,  you  know  who  that 
weak  woman  is. 


*  By  such  toilsome  labour  as  this  I  got  him  here  as 
my  steward.  And  I  wanted  to  see  him  your  husband, 
Cytherea  ! — the  husband  of  my  true  lover's  child.  It 
was  a  sweet  dream  to  me.  .  .  .  Pity  me — O,  pity  me ! 
To  die  unloved  is  more  than  I  can  bear !  I  loved 
your  father,  and  I  love  him  now.' 

That  was  the  burden  of  Cytherea  Aldclyffe. 

'  I  suppose  you  must  leave  me  again — you  always 
leave  me,'  she  said,  after  holding  the  young  woman's 
hand  a  long  while  in  silence. 

'  No — indeed  I'll  stay  always.  Do  you  like  me  to 
stay  ? ' 

Miss  Aldclyffe  in  the  jaws  of  death  was  Miss  Ald- 
clyffe still,  though  the  old  fire  had  degenerated  to  mere 
phosphorescence  now.  '  But  you  are  your  brother's 
housekeeper  ? ' 

« Yes.' 

'Well,  of  course  you  cannot  stay  with  me  on  a 
sudden  like  this.  ...  Go  home,  or  he  will  be  at 
a  loss  for  things.  And  to-morrow  morning  come 
462 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

again,  won't  you,  dearest,  come  again — we'll  fetch  you. 
But  you  mustn't  stay  now,  and  put  Owen  out.  O  no 
— it  would  be  absurd.'  The  absorbing  concern  about 
trifles  of  daily  routine,  which  is  so  often  seen  in  very 
sick  people,  was  present  here. 

Cytherea  promised  to  go  home,  and  come  the  next 
morning  to  stay  continuously. 

'  Stay  till  I  die  then,  will  you  not  ?  Yes,  till  I  die 
— I  shan't  die  till  to-morrow.' 

'  We  hope  for  your  recovery — all  of  us.' 

'  I  know  best.     Come  at  six  o'clock,  darling.' 

*  As  soon  as  ever  I  can,'  returned  Cytherea  tenderly. 

'  But  six  is  too  early — you  will  have  to  think  of 
your  brother's  breakfast.  Leave  Tolchurch  at  eight, 
will  you  ? ' 

Cytherea  consented  to  this.  Miss  Aldclyffe  would 
never  have  known  had  her  companion  stayed  in  the 
house  all  night ;  but  the  honesty  of  Cytherea's  nature 
rebelled  against  even  the  friendly  deceit  which  such  a 
proceeding  would  have  involved. 

An  arrangement  was  come  to  whereby  she  was  to 
be  taken  home  in  the  pony-carriage  instead  of  the 
brougham  that  fetched  her ;  the  carriage  to  put  up  at 
Tolchurch  farm  for  the  night,  and  on  that  account  to 
be  in  readiness  to  bring  her  back  earlier. 


March  the  Thirtieth.     Daybreak 

The  third  and  last  instance  of  Cytherea's  subjection 
to  those  periodic  terrors  of  the  night  which  had  em- 
phasized her  connection  with  the  Aldclyffe  name  and 
blood  occurred  at  the  present  date. 

It  was   about   four   o'clock    in    the    morning    when 

Cytherea,    though     most    probably    dreaming,    seemed 

to  awake — and   instantly  was   transfixed  by  a  sort   of 

spell,  that  had  in  it  more  of  awe  than  of  affright.     At 

463 


DESPERATE    REMEDIES 

the  foot  of  her  bed,  looking  her  in  the  face  with  an 
expression  of  entreaty  beyond  the  power,  of  words  to 
portray,  was  the  form  of  Miss  Aldclyffe — wan  and  dis- 
tinct. No  motion  was  perceptible  in  her ;  but  longing 
— earnest  longing — was  written  in  every  feature. 

Cytherea  believed  she  exercised  her  waking  judg- 
ment as  usual  in  thinking,  without  a  shadow  of  doubt, 
that  Miss  Aldclyffe  stood  before  her  in  flesh  and  blood. 
Reason  was  not  sufficiently  alert  to  lead  Cytherea  to 
ask  herself  how  such  a  thing  could  have  occurred. 

*  I  would  have  remained  with  you — why  would 
you  not  allow  me  to  stay ! '  Cytherea  exclaimed.  The 
spell  was  broken  :  she  became  broadly  awake ;  and  the 
figure  vanished. 

It  was  in  the  grey  time  of  dawn.  She  trembled  in 
a  sweat  of  disquiet,  and  not  being  able  to  endure  the 
thought  of  her  brother  being  asleep,  she  went  and 
tapped  at  his  door. 

'  Owen  ! ' 

He  was  not  a  heavy  sleeper,  and  it  was  verging  upon 
his  time  to  rise. 

*  \Vhat  do  you  want,  Cytherea  ?  ' 

'  I  ought  not  to  have  left  Knapwater  last  night.  I 
wish  I  had  not.  I  really  think  I  will  start  at  once. 
She  wants  me,  I  know.' 

*  What  time  is  it  ? ' 

'  A  few  minutes  past  four.' 

'You  had  better  not.  Keep  to  the  time  agreed 
upon.  Consider,  we  should  have  such  a  trouble  in 
rousing  the  driver,  and  other  things.' 

Upon  the  whole  it  seemed  wiser  not  to  act  on  a 
mere  fancy.     She  went  to  bed  again. 

An  hour  later,  when  Owen  was  thinking  of  getting 
up,  a  knocking  came  to  the  front  door.  The  next 
minute  something  touched  the  glass  of  Owen's  window. 
He  waited — the  noise  was  repeated.  A  little  gravel 
had  been  thrown  against  it  to  arouse  him. 
464 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

He  crossed  the  room,  pulled  up  the  blind,  and 
looked  out.  A  solemn  white  face  was  gazing  upwards 
from  the  road,  expectantly  straining  to  catch  the  first 
glimpse  of  a  person  within  the  panes.  It  was  the  face 
of  a  Knapwater  man  sitting  on  horseback. 

Owen  saw  his  errand.  There  is  an  unmistakable 
look  in  the  face  of  every  man  who  brings  tidings  of 
death.     Graye  opened  the  window. 

'Miss  Aldclyffe  .  .  .  '  said  the  messenger,  and 
paused. 

'  Ah— dead  ?  ' 

'  Yes — she  is  dead.' 

'  When  did  she  die  ?  ' 

*At  ten  minutes  past  four,  after  another  effusion. 
She  knew  best,  you  see,  sir.  I  started  directly,  by  the 
Kctor's  orders.' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 


SEQUEL 

l"*  IFTEEN  months  have  passed,  and  we  are  brought 
on  to  Midsummer  Night,  1867. 

The  picture  presented  is  the  interior  of  the  old  belfry 
of  Carriford  Church,  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  evening. 

Six  Carriford  men  and  one  stranger  are  gathered 
there,  beneath  the  light  of  a  flaring  candle  stuck  on  a 
piece  of  wood  against  the  wall.  The  six  Carriford 
men  are  the  well-known  ringers  of  the  fine-toned  old 
bells  in  the  key  of  F,  which  have  been  music  to 
the  ears  of  Carriford  parish  and  the  outlying  dis- 
tricts for  the  last  four  hundred  years.  The  stranger 
is  an  assistant,  who  has  appeared  from  nobody  knows 
where. 

The  six  natives — in  their  shirt-sleeves,  and  without 
hats — pull  and  catch  frantically  at  the  dancing  bell- 
ropes,  the  locks  of  their  hair  waving  in  the  breeze 
created  by  their  quick  motions  ;  the  stranger,  who  has 
the  treble  bell,  does  likewise,  but  in  his  right  mind 
and  coat.  Their  ever-changing  shadows  mingle  on  the 
wall  in  an  endless  variety  of  kaleidoscopic  forms,  and 
the  eyes  of  all  the  seven  are  religiously  fixed  on  a 
diagram  like  a  large  addition  sum,  which  is  chalked  on 
the  floor. 

Vividly  contrasting  with  the  yellow  light  of  the 
candle  upon  the  four  unplastered  walls  of  the  tower, 
and  upon  the  faces  and  clothes  of  the  men,  is  the 
466 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

scene  discernible  through  the  screen  beneath  the  tower 
archway.  At  the  extremity  of  the  long  mysterious 
avenue  of  the  nave  and  chancel  can  be  seen  shafts  of 
moonlight  streaming  in  at  the  east  window  of  the 
church — blue,  phosphoric,  and  ghostly. 

A  thorough  renovation  of  the  bell-ringing  machinery 
and  accessories  had  taken  place  in  anticipation  of  an 
interesting  event.  New  ropes  had  been  provided ;  every 
bell  had  been  carefully  shifted  from  its  carriage,  and 
the  pivots  lubricated.  Bright  red  '  sallies '  of  woollen 
texture — soft  to  the  hands  and  easily  caught — glowed 
on  the  ropes  in  place  of  the  old  ragged  knots,  all  of 
which  newness  in  small  details  only  rendered  more 
evident  the  irrepressible  aspect  of  age  in  the  mass 
surrounding  them. 

The  triple-bob-major  was  ended,  and  the  ringers 
wiped  their  faces  and  rolled  down  their  shirt-sleeves, 
previously  to  tucking  away  the  ropes  and  leaving  the 
place  for  the  night. 

'  Piph — h — h — h  !  A  good  forty  minutes,'  said 
a  man  with  a  streaming  face,  and  blowing  out  his 
breath  —  one  of  the  pair  who  had  taken  the  tenor 
bell. 

'  Our  friend  here  pulled  proper  well — that  'a  did 
— seeing  he's  but  a  stranger,'  said  Clerk  Crickett,  who 
had  just  resigned  the  second  rope,  and  addressing  the 
man  in  the  black  coat. 

'  'A  did,'  said  the  rest. 

'  I  enjoyed  it  much,'  said  the  man  modestly. 

'  What  we  should  ha'  done  without  you  words  can't 
tell.  The  man  that  d'belong  by  rights  to  that  there 
bell  is  ill  o'  two  gallons  o'  wold  cider.' 

*  And  now  so's,'  remarked  the  fifth  ringer,  as  per- 
taining to  the  last  allusion,  '  we'll  finish  this  drop  o' 
metheglin  and  cider,  and  every  man  home-along  straight 
as  a  line.' 

'  Wi'  all  my  heart,'  Clerk  Crickett  replied.  *  And 
467 


DESPERATE  REMEDIES 

the  Lord  send  if  I  ha'n't  done  my  duty  by  Master 
Teddy  Springrove — that  I  have  so.' 

'  And  the  rest  o'  us,'  they  said,  as  the  cup  was 
handed  round. 

'  Ay,  ay — in  ringen — but  I  was  spaken  in  a  spiritual 
sense  o'  this  mornen's  business  o'  mine  up  by  the 
chancel  rails  there.  'Twas  very  convenient  to  lug  her 
here  and  marry  her  instead  o'  doen  it  at  that  twopenny- 
halfpenny  town  o'  Budm'th.     Very  convenient.' 

*  Very.     There  was  a  little  fee  for  Master  Crickett.' 

'  Ah — well.  Money's  money — very  much  so — very 
— I  always  have  said  it.  But  'twas  a  pretty  sight 
for  the  nation.  He  coloured  up  like  any  maid,  that 
^a  did.' 

'  Well  enough  'a  mid  colour  up.  'Tis  no  small 
matter  for  a  man  to  play  wi'  fire.' 

'Whatever  it  may  be  to  a  woman,'  said  the  clerk 
absently. 

'  Thou'rt  thinken  o'  thy  wife,  clerk,'  said  Gad 
Weedy.  '  She'll  play  wi'it  again  when  thou'st  got  mil- 
dewed.' 

'  Well — let  her,  God  bless  her ;  for  I'm  but  a  poor 
third  man,  I.  The  Lord  have  mercy  upon  the  fourth ! 
.  .  .  Ay,  Teddy's  got  his  own  at  last.  What  little 
white  ears  that  maid  hev,  to  be  sure !  choose  your 
wife  as  you  choose  your  pig — a  small  ear  and  a  small 
tale — that  was  always  my  joke  when  I  was  a  merry 
feller,  ah — years  agone  now !  But  Teddy's  got  her. 
Poor  chap,  he  was  getten  as  thin  as  a  hermit  wi'  grief 
— so  was  she.' 

'  Maybe  she'll  pick  up  now.' 

'  True — 'tis  nater's  law,  which  no  man  shall  gain- 
say. Ah,  well  do  I  bear  in  mind  what  I  said  to 
Pa'son  Raunham,  about  thy  mother's  family  o'  seven, 
Gad,  the  very  first  week  of  his  comen  here,  when  I 
was  just  in  my  prime.  *'  And  how  many  daughters 
has  that  ''poor  Weedy  got,  clerk  ? "  he  says.  "  Six, 
468 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

sir,"  says  I,  "  and  every  one  of  'em  has  a  brother !  " 
"  Poor  woman,"  says  he,  "  a  dozen  children  ! — give 
her  this  half-sovereign  from  me,  clerk."  'A  laughed 
a  good  five  minutes  afterwards,  when  he  found  out 
my  merry  nater — 'a  did.  But  there,  'tis  over  wi'  me 
now.  Enteren  the  Church  is  the  ruin  of  a  man's  wit, 
for  wit's  nothen  without  a  faint  shadder  o'  sin.' 

'  If  so  be  Teddy  and  the  lady  had  been  kept 
apart  for  life,  they'd  both  ha'  died,'  said  Gad  empha- 
tically. 

'  But  now  instead  o'  death  there'll  be  increase  o' 
life,'  answered  the  clerk. 

'  It  all  went  proper  well,'  said  the  fifth  bell-ringer. 
'  They  didn't  flee  off  to  Babylonish  places — not  they.' 
He  struck  up  an  attitude — *  Here's  Master  Springrove 
standen  so :  here's  the  married  woman  standen  like- 
wise; here  they  d'walk  across  to  Knapwater  House; 
and  there  they  d'bide  in  the  chimley  corner,  hard 
and  fast.' 

'Yes,  'twas  a  pretty  wedden,  and  well  attended,' 
added  the  clerk.  '  Here  was  my  lady  herself — red  as 
scarlet :  here  was  Master  Springrove,  looken  as  if  he 
half  wished  he'd  never  a-come — ah,  poor  souls  ! — the 
men  always  do !  The  women  do  stand  it  best — the 
maid  was  in  her  glory.  Though  she  was  so  shy 
the  glory  shone  plain  through  that  shy  skin.  Ah,  it 
did  so's.' 

'  Ay,'  said  Gad,  '  and  there  was  Tim  Tankins  and 
his  five  journeymen  carpenters,  standen  on  tiptoe  and 
peepen  in  at  the  chancel  winders.  There  was  Dairy- 
man Dodman  waiten  in  his  new  spring-cart  to  see 
'em  come  out — whip  in  hand — that  'a  was.  Then  up 
comes  two  master  tailors.  Then  there  was  Christopher 
Runt  wi'  his  pickaxe  and  shovel.  There  was  wimmen- 
folk  and  there  was  men-folk  traj-psen  up  and  down 
church'ard  till  they  wore  a  path  wi*  traypsen  so — 
letten  the  squallen   children    slip  down   through  their 

2  H  469 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

arms  and  nearly  skinnen  o'  em.  And  these  were  all 
over  and  above  the  gentry  and  Sunday-clothes  folk 
inside.  Well,  I  seed  Mr.  Graye  at  last  dressed  up 
quite  the  dand.  "  Well,  Mr.  Graye,"  says  I  from  the 
top  o'  church'ard  wall,  "  how's  yerself  ?  "  Mr.  Graye 
never  spoke — he'd  prided  away  his  hearen.  Seize  the 
man,  I  didn'  want  en  to  spak.  Teddy  hears  it,  and 
turns  round :  '•  All  right.  Gad !  "  says  he,  and  laughed 
like  a  boy.     There's  more  in  Teddy.' 

'  Well,'  said  Clerk  Crickett,  turning  to  the  man  in 
black,  '  now  you've  been  among  us  so  long,  and  d'know 
us  so  well,  won't  ye  tell  us  what  ye've  come  here  for, 
and  what  your  trade  is  ?  ' 

*  I  am  no  trade,'  said  the  thin  man,  smiling,  '  and  I 
came  to  see  the  wickedness  of  the  land.' 

*  I  said  thou  wast  one  o'  the  devil's  brood  wi'  thy 
black  clothes,'  replied  a  sturdy  ringer,  who  had  not 
spoken  before. 

*  No,  the  truth  is,'  said  the  thin  man,  retracting  at 
this  horrible  translation,  '  I  came  for  a  walk  because  it 
is  a  fine  evening.' 

'  Now  let's  be  off,  neighbours,'  the  clerk  interrupted. 

The  candle  was  inverted  in  the  socket,  and  the  whole 
party  stepped  out  into  the  churchyard.  The  moon  was 
shining  within  a  day  or  two  of  full,  and  just  overlooked 
the  three  or  four  vast  yews  that  stood  on  the  south-east 
side  of  the  church,  and  rose  in  unvaried  and  flat  dark- 
ness against  the  illuminated  atmosphere  behind  them. 

'  Good-night,'  the  clerk  said  to  his  comrades,  when 
the  door  was  locked.  '  My  nearest  way  is  through  the 
park.' 

'  I  suppose  mine  is  too  ?  '  said  the  stranger.  '  I  am 
going  to  the  railway-station.' 

'  Of  course — come  on.' 

The  two  men  went  over  a  stile  to  the  west,  the 
remainder  of  the  party  going  into  the  road  on  the 
opposite  side. 

470 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

'  And  so  the  romance  has  ended  well/  the  clerk's 
companion  remarked,  as  they  brushed  along  through 
the  grass.  '  But  what  is  the  truth  of  the  story  about 
the  property  ? ' 

'  Now  look  here,  neighbour,'  said  Clerk  Crickett,  '  if 
so  be  you'll  tell  me  what  your  line  o'  life  is,  and  your 
purpose  in  comen  here  to-day,  I'll  tell  you  the  truth 
about  the  wedden  particulars.' 

'  Very  well — I  will  when  you  have  done,'  said  the 
other  man. 

'  'Tis  a  bargain ;  and  this  is  the  right  o'  the  story. 
When  Miss  Aldclyffe's  will  was  opened,  it  was  found  to 
have  been  drawn  up  on  the  very  day  that  Manston  (her 
love-child)  married  Miss  Cytherea  Graye.  And  this  is 
what  that  deep  woman  did.  Deep  ?  she  was  as  deep 
as  the  North  Star.  She  bequeathed  all  her  property, 
real  and  personal,  to  '■'■the  wife  of  Aineas  Mansion  (with 
one  exception) :  fallen  her  life  to  her  husband :  fallen 
his  life  to  the  heirs  of  his  head — body  I  would  say : 
fallen  them  to  her  absolutely  and  her  heirs  for  ever : 
fallen  these  to  Pa'son  Raunham,  and  so  on  to  the  end 
o'  the  human  race.  Now  do  you  see  the  depth  of  her 
scheme?  Why,  although  upon  the  surface  it  appeared 
her  whole  property  was  for  Miss  Cytherea,  by  the  word 
"  wife "  being  used,  and  not  Cytherea's  name,  whoever 
was  the  wife  o'  Manston  would  come  in  for't.  Wasn't 
that  rale  depth  ?  It  was  done,  of  course,  that  her  son 
i^neas,  under  any  circumstances,  should  be  master  o' 
the  property,  without  folk  knowen  it  was  her  son  or 
suspecting  anything,  as  they  would  if  it  had  been  left  to 
en  straightway.' 

'  A  clever  arrangement !  And  what  was  the  ex- 
ception ? ' 

'  The  payment  of  a  legacy  to  her  relative,  Pa'son 
Raunham.' 

'  And  Miss  Cytherea  was  now  Mansion's  widow  and 
only  relative,  and  inherited  all  absolutely.' 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

*  True,  she  did.  "  Well,"  says  she,  "  I  shan't  have 
it "  (she  didn't  like  the  notion  o'  getten  anything  through 
Mansion,  naturally  enough,  pretty  dear).,  She  waived 
her  right  in  favour  o'  Mr.  Raunham.  Now,  if  there's 
a  man  in  the  world  that  d'care  nothen  about  land — I 
don't  say  there  is,  but  if  there  is — 'tis  our  pa'son.  He's 
like  a  snail.  He's  a-growed  so  to  the  shape  o'  that 
there  rectory  that  'a  wouldn'  think  o'  leaven  it  even  in 
name.  " 'Tis  yours,  Miss  Graye,"  says  he.  '<No,  'tis 
yours,"  says  she.  "  Tisn'  mine,"  says  he.  The  Crown 
had  cast  his  eyes  upon  the  case,  thinken  o'  forfeiture  by 
felony — but  'twas  no  such  thing,  and  'a  gied  it  up,  too. 
Did  you  ever  hear  such  a  tale? — three  people,  a  man 
and  a  woman,  and  a  Crown — neither  o'  em  in  a  mad- 
house— flingen  an  estate  backwards  and  forwards  like 
an  apple  or  nut?  Well,  it  ended  in  this  way.  Mr. 
Raunham  took  it :  young  Springrove  was  had  as  agent 
and  steward,  and  put  to  live  in  Knapwater  House,  close 
here  at  hand — ^just  as  if  'twas  his  own.  He  does  just 
what  he'd  like — Mr.  Raunham  never  interferen — and 
hither  to-day  he's  brought  his  new  \vife,  Cytherea.  And 
a  settlement  ha'  been  drawn  up  this  very  day,  whereby 
their  children,  heirs,  and  cetrer,  be  to  inherit  after  Mr. 
Raunham's  death.  Good  fortune  came  at  last.  Her 
brother,  too,  is  doen  well.  He  came  in  first  man  in 
some  architectural  competition,  and  is  about  to  move 
to  London.  Here's  the  house,  look.  Stap  out  from 
these  bushes,  and  you'll  get  a  clear  sight  o't.' 

They  emerged  from  the  shrubbery,  breaking  off 
towards  the  lake,  and  down  the  south  slope.  When 
they  arrived  exactly  opposite  the  centre  of  the  mansion, 
they  halted. 

It  was  a  magnificent  picture  of  the  English  country- 
house.  The  whole  of  the  severe  regular  front,  with  its 
columns  and  cornices,  was  built  of  a  white  smoothly- 
faced  freestone,  which  appeared  in  the  rays  of  the 
moon  as  pure  as  Pentelic  marble.  The  sole  objects 
472 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

in  the  scene  rivalling  the  fairness  of  the  fac^ade  were 
a  dozen  swans  floating  upon  the  lake. 

At  this  moment  the  central  door  at  the  top  of  the 
steps  was  opened,  and  two  figures  advanced  into  the 
light.  Two  contrasting  figures  were  they.  A  young 
lithe  woman  in  an  airy  fairy  dress — Cytherea  Sprin- 
grove :  a  young  man  in  black  stereotype  raiment — 
Edward,  her  husband. 

They  stood  at  the  top  of  the  steps  together,  look- 
ing at  the  moon,  the  water,  and  the  general  loveliness 
of  the  prospect. 

'That's  the  married  man  and  wife — there,  I've 
illustrated  my  story  by  rale  liven  specimens,'  the  clerk 
whispered. 

'  To  be  sure,  how  close  together  they  do  stand ! 
You  couldn'  slip  a  penny-piece  between  'em  —  that 
you  couldn' !  Beautiful  to  see  it,  isn't  it — beautiful ! 
.  .  .  But  this  is  a  private  path,  and  we  won't  let  'em 
see  us,  as  all  the  ringers  be  goen  there  to  a  supper 
and  dance  to-morrow  night.' 

The  speaker  and  his  companion  softly  moved  on, 
passed  through  the  wicket,  and  into  the  coach-road. 
Arrived  at  the  clerk's  house  at  the  further  boundary  of 
the  park,  they  paused  to  part. 

'  Now  for  your  half  o'  the  bargain,'  said  Clerk 
Crickett.  '  What's  your  line  o'  life,  and  what  d'ye 
come  here  for?' 

'  I'm  the  reporter  to  the  CasterbriJge  Chronicle,  and 
I  come  to  pick  up  the  news.     Good-night.' 

Meanwhile  Edward  and  Cytherea,  after  lingering  on 
the  steps  for  several  minutes,  slowly  descended  the 
slope  to  the  lake.     The  skiff  was  lying  alongside. 

'  O,  Edward,'  said  Cytherea,  '  you  must  do  something 
that  has  just  come  into  my  head  ! ' 

'  Well,  dearest — I  know.' 

'Yes — give  me  one  half-minute's  row  on  the  lake 
473  2H 


DESPERATE   REMEDIES 

here  now,  just  as  you  did  on  Budmouth  Bay  three 
years  ago.' 

He  handed  her  into  the  boat,  and  almost  noiselessly 
pulled  off  from  shore.  When  they  were  half-way  be- 
tween the  two  margins  of  the  lake,  he  paused  and 
looked  at  her. 

'  Ah,  darling,  I  remember  exactly  how  I  kissed  you 
that  first  time,'  said  Springrove.  *  You  were  there 
as  you  are  now.  I  unshipped  the  sculls  in  this  way. 
Then  I  turned  round  and  sat  beside  you — in  this 
way.  Then  I  put  my  hand  on  the  other  side  of  your 
little  neck ' 

'  I  think  it  was  just  on  my  cheek,  in  this  way.' 

'  Ah,  so  it  was.  Then  you  moved  that  soft  red 
mouth  round  to  mine ' 

'  But,  dearest — you  pressed  it  round  if  you  remem- 
ber ;  and  of  course  I  couldn't  then  help  letting  it  come 
to  your  mouth  without  being  unkind  to  you,  and  I 
wouldn't  be  that.' 

'  And  then  I  put  my  cheek  against  that  cheek,  and 
turned  my  two  lips  round  upon  those  two  lips,  and 
kissed  them so.' 


THE   END 


(  4  8 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 

nui. 

AUG  18 1969 

BE   JAN  .^taza 

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